DAMON III
by vlwillis
Summary: The continuing story of DAMON, pls read DAMON  and DAMON II first. Damon has left the Burkes. While searching for him, another WC criminal has hit NYC, The Shadow. Some cussing / discipline/spanking of a teen GEN
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**DAMON III** **(1)**

As soon as the Burkes left the morning after the Adler incident was concluded, Damon was up and moving. He had successfully convinced Agent Burke that he was tired so he would let him be. Damon was emotionally drained, the last few days had been a nightmare, but Agent Burke had said those key words, 'it's over' and put his survival instincts in high gear. He would have time to rest when he got settled. If he let them send him away first, there was a good chance he would lose his stash and that was imperative to his plans.

Damon had an unbalanced fear of the foster care system. The only foster kids he ran into where runaways and most kids do not run away from good homes. Those that do run away from a decent home make up false stories so they have an excuse for their actions. Damon heard many a horror story, but rarely anything good. His logical mind should have rationalized his reactions, but he was young and paranoid.

The night before he had taken his oldest pair of jeans and an old T-shirt and ripped them in strategic places. As soon as he was sure the Burkes were gone he took them down to the washer, threw in an extra amount of bleach and washed them. He needed the rips to fray and the bleach to fade the clothes so he could better blend into his new environment.

While the clothes were washing he quickly packed his backpack with the items he needed. He would only be taking the one set of 'old' clothes he would be wearing, those could be replaced easy enough, and the rest was the upgraded style that Mrs. Burke had introduced him to. One thing he did learn while living with the Burkes was clothes were important to get near the marks. Dress poor, only the poor marks don't notice you, the rich one's not only notice you, but remembered you when they noticed their wallet missing. Dress decent, put on a big smile, they might remember you, but not when they notice their wallet missing. They do not remember the innocent well-groomed boy; they search their memory for the poorly dressed persons that got near them.

So he packed his bag full of stylish clothes, hesitated a moment, and then packed the suit that Adler had had tailored for him. You never knew what doors that suit could open, and he could never afford to buy one of his own.

Once the jean outfit was properly frayed he changed into them, got his stash and hid it in several different spots on his person. He quickly wrote his note and placed it under the phone, adding his ID, library and homeschool cards. Damon P. Henderson no longer existed; he was just Damon once more. He grabbed his backpack and headed out the door at about noon.

He knew exactly where he was going. He had a long walk from Burke's neighborhood toward the inner-city slum district. He became a chameleon en-route. If he passed a park, he stopped and spread dirt on himself and his backpack. If he passed a dumpster, he rubbed his person to include his head and his pack against it to pick up the grime and the odors. The further he went, the nastier the dumpster, the more it transformed him into the homeless street kid that first entered White Collar over a year ago. The smell was overpowering, but he figured he would get used to it again.

About the time Peter arrived home, Damon had reached his first destination; a large overpass with plenty of usable space underneath. It had a cheap liquor store close by so it was a favorite site for many homeless alcoholics. Damon had spent many a night there in his past.

He carefully picked his way through the residents looking for someone he might recognize, someone who would work for his plan.

He spotted Mac and immediately avoided him, he was a mean drunk, he moved on. There was Simon, no, sometimes when he got drunk; he had looked at Damon with hungry eyes. Damon continued searching. He spotted Jake. Perfect. He had hoped ol' man Jake would still be there. He moved up beside the sleeping wino.

"Hey Jake, wake up." He shook the man's shoulder.

"Wa? Wa? Wach ya wan?" Jake looked like he was recovering from his last bottle of cheap wine.

"Jake it's me, Damon. Wake up. I want to talk to you."

"Dama? Dama? Were ya been, boy? Havn' seen ou in lon time."

"They caught me Jake. But I'm back now.

"Ou ga a ha dog for me?"

Damon laughed, "Of course Jake. Don't I always?" He pulled a bag out of his jacket, removed the hot dog and handed it to the man, hoping it would sober him up enough to talk.

"Ya aways wa a goo boy Dama." Jake quickly sat up and ate the hot dog.

"Jake, I need to talk to you. Let's go over to that diner and have a cup of coffee."

"You ga money, boy?"

Damon sure didn't want to talk about money in front of the other drunks, "Enough for a cup of coffee. Come on, Jake." He reached out to help the old man up.

Jake let Damon help him up and guide him to the diner. He had long ago lost the will to resist.

As they entered the run down diner, Damon tried to ignore the cockroach that ran under the counter, _welcome back_, he thought. He guided Jake to a booth and they sat down facing each other. A crabby waitress saw their appearance and came over to ask if they had money, she didn't want any homeless bums taking up space just to get warm.

Damon dug in his pockets and found three crumpled one dollar bills that he had planted to make him look poor, and requested two cups of coffee. She frowned and said he needed more change, and he made a show of digging for pocket change to pay her. She took the money and then got the coffee.

Damon didn't want any coffee but he knew refills would be hard to get and he wanted to sober Jake up as much as possible.

He leaned close hoping others couldn't hear him, "Jake, I got a proposition for you. How would you like to get out of the streets for the winter?"

The hot dog and coffee were starting to sober Jake up, "I'm not gonna go ta a homeless sheler, they won le me drink."

"No Jake, I'm talking about you and I getting a place. Nothing fancy, but you'll be off the streets and maybe even have heat."

Jake eyed him suspiciously, "You ga money?"

Damon leaned in close so only Jake could hear, "I can get money. I'll take care of the money, Jake."

Jake gave him a crafty look, "You buy my wine?"

"Jake, when I have enough extra, I will buy you wine." He wasn't going to give Jake all he wanted; Jake would drink himself to death.

"Why do you wan me?"

Damon smiled, "Jake, I'm sure you noticed I'm a little on the young side. I need an adult to live with. We'll say you're my grandpa."

"Granpa?"

"Yes Jake. What do you say? It'll get you off the streets for the winter."

"You buy my wine?"

"Yes Jake."

Jake agreed to the deal, and as they left, Damon slid a $5 bill under one of the coffee cups, maybe that'll make the waitress be a little bit nicer to the next bum that comes in. Damon guided Jake to a dive hotel nearby, Jake protested saying he wanted his wine, and Damon had to explain they had to get the room first. Jake reluctantly allowed Damon to pull him into the hotel and up to the counter.

Damon spoke up. "We need an efficiency apartment for a month. How much?"

The clerk looked at Jake, "Six hundred up front buddy."

Damon spoke again, "We need two beds."

Again the clerk addressed Jake, "I'll throw in a rollaway for an extra twenty a month."

Damon dug in different stash points to bring out the required money. The clerk looked at him suspiciously.

Damon explained, "If I let Grandpa hold the money, he'll just drink it up."

One look at Jake and that obviously made sense. The man had Jake sign the register and gave him the key. Damon requested a second key and was informed this wasn't the Carlton Hilton. _No duh_, Damon thought. He gently took the key from Jake and tried to guide him to the stairwell.

"No Damon. You said you would buy me wine!" Jake whined.

"Right, Jake. Let's go get your wine."

He took Jake to the liquor store and back to the hotel, he knew Jake would most likely wander off if left to his own devises, and finally got the both of them to their room before dark. Damon still had about $400 of his stash left and really wanted to get off the streets with his backpack and money before he lost it all to some mugger.

When they entered their room Damon had to remind himself that this was his life now, it was better than the streets, and told himself to suck it up and handle it as he stepped on a cockroach. Damon had never been to Neal's first assigned residence, the Empire Hotel, if he had, he would have thought the Empire was a luxury hotel compared to this one. But Damon had to live in a place that didn't question Jake being his grandpa, and didn't question when they saw Damon was not going to go to school. They had to live in a place that just didn't care about anything, as long as they got their money.

Damon glanced around the room and quickly surmised what they meant by an efficiency. It had a small counter with an electric burner and a small sink. Beside that was a dormitory size refrigerator that needed a thorough cleaning before he would even let Satch have food out of it.

Damon planned a shopping trip first thing in the morning to get cleaning supplies so he could touch the small counter and use the bathroom without cringing. He gave Jake the twin bed and he took the rollaway. He'd have to get laundry soap to wash the sheets too. He didn't even want to think what might have been done on those sheets and never washed out.

He reminded himself several times it was better than the streets, usually after he stepped on yet another cockroach.

They slept with the glaring ceiling light on to help keep the mice and cockroaches at bay.

***WC***

Damon had lived too long with his mom and El to tolerate unnecessarily filthy conditions. He shoplifted what he could fit in his coat, bought what didn't fit and got the supplies to clean the grimy place. When he got done, it didn't look clean, but the surfaces were touchable and refrigerator was useable. Good thing winter was coming; maybe it could keep the food cold then.

He also 'acquired' some hair bleach. First try he turned his hair orangish and was stunned. He acquired more and tried again. Eventually, he turned his hair into a dirty blond but it was somewhat frizzy. Great. He decided maybe he should read the directions better next time. He purchased a Wicklow driving cap with his 'ten fingered' discount to hide the roots as they started to grow.

As Damon had expected, and desired, he was in charge. He took care of Jake. He made him take showers, he made sure he ate, and always ate with him, semi-subconsciously remembering how the Burkes always pushed him to eat. He saved Jake's old wine bottles and when Jake got new wine, he split it between four bottles, added water to fill and rationed them out to the old man. He liked Jake and saw his health was failing. Eventually, Damon realized Jake never would have survived the winter on the streets.

But Damon not only needed Jake for an adult presence, but the company. Jake had interesting stories of a better life in his past. He had been in the military, he had been an architect, and eventually owned his own construction company. The tales helped fill in the hours. A couple times Jake had let it slip that he had had a wife and kids, but then he went on a drinking binge. Damon got the impression they were dead and that's probably what drove Jake to the bottle and eventually the streets.

Damon slept during school hours; he could not take a chance on being caught. When school let out he hit the streets. Sometimes he went to 'work', which meant taking a change of clothes in his backpack and heading for the wealthier side of town. Somewhere during the subway ride, he would step into a restroom as a bum, and exit as a middleclass bright, friendly preppy type boy more than eager to help folks in need as he lifted their wallets. He never looked at ID's, and he never took any more than the cash they carried. He could not figure out a safe way to return their wallets, so he made sure they were buried beyond reach of any other thieves. He did not want their charge cards used or their identity stolen, he just wanted their cash.

Somewhere during his ride home, he transformed back into a street bum.

Damon never felt any guilt for his stealing. He never stole what he didn't need, so it was a matter of survival. A man cannot feel guilty for following a basic instinct.

Sometimes he went to the library. He had found a couple poor ones on the outskirts of the slums; ones that could not afford the detection devices in the regular check-out books. He had no ID so he could not get a library card, but he could 'check out' small to medium sized books and 'return' them when he was done. He couldn't hang out in the libraries as he had in the past just in case they were looking for him.

Damon used his prior knowledge and what he had learned from Neal that was applicable, lots of Neal's knowledge related to adults. For example, an ID card, what good would an ID card do for him if they had to contact the parents anyway? And he didn't trust Jake to keep his cover. Also, he knew Neal had many underground contacts and, just in case he was looking for him, he avoided those contacts.

He did not believe the Burkes were looking for him. He believed they had transferred custody to the state and now he was a ward of the state. He held no animosity, they had been great. But if they wanted a kid, they would have had one. And he knew they definitely would not even consider wanting him now that they knew he had Adler blood in his veins, Agent Burke had had enough trouble with his Caffrey blood.

***WC***

##### OK, let's see how it goes with Damon. Hope I can keep up with expectations! #####


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Spoilers:** Several quotes and misquotes from several episodes. **Quotes are bold.**

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**DAMON III** **(2)**

When Peter got over his initial shock from Damon being gone, his professional training kicked in. He sent teams out searching for the boy and even elicited the help of NYPD. How far can a 13 year old with no money get? When he was not found before dark, they realized they had to revise their search parameters.

Neal went to the Burke's house that night…

Neal's face turned red when he read Damon's note, "You told him you were going to send him to CPS!"

Peter was distracted, "No, of course not. It was never mentioned."

"But you never told him you weren't going to send him away…" Neal fumed.

"I guess it was never brought up…"

"How could you not bring it up, Peter? You knew how disbelieving he was!"

Now Peter was starting to react, what right did Neal have to talk to him like that? "How do I know you don't have him hidden somewhere with the treasure waiting for your chance to get away?"

"I trusted you to take care of him, Peter! Maybe I should reconsider my decision!"

"You want to talk about trust, Neal? Maybe I should reconsider my options!"

The two irate men were up and starting to square off, El jumped in between them,

"The two of you, stop! This is about Damon, not you two! He is out there somewhere alone. You two need to work together to find him." She was on the verge of tears.

The two men regained their composure; El had her way of calming any catastrophe. "Now, I want you two to make up and shake hands."

Peter looked contrite, he knew who the boss was, "Sorry, Hon. You're right. Truce Neal?"

Neal, likewise repentant, "Truce Peter. Let's find Damon."

El stood with her arms crossed, waiting…

They reached out and shook hands.

"Good boys." She gave Neal a quick hug and a peck on the check, then turned to Peter and gave him the same, but of longer duration as her man deserved.

Things calmed now, Peter spoke to Neal, "I've searched his room for clues, well I didn't find anything, but there's something I want you to see."

"Sure Peter." Good, things were back to normal, keep Peter's mind on Damon and off the treasure.

They went up to Damon's room. Damon had always kept the easel Neal had given him in the back of the closet, facing away from the door. Although Peter had 'tossed' Damon's room a few times after his pickpocketing crime spree, he had never turned the easel around. Peter had a law man's sense of a legal search procedure and the easel had not been in his search parameters for Damon's room. Now everything was considered searchable.

Peter had removed the easel from the closet and it stood in the middle of the room.

"Neal, I know artists have a different sense of what art is; at least more than I do, but no matter how I look at this, it does not qualify. I don't even see abstract art in this, it looks more like…. well like doodling."

Neal laughed, "Well, I guess you could call it that Peter, he's practicing. A lot of people think anyone can paint with watercolor, but to bring out its full potential takes just as much talent as any other medium. This is Damon perfecting his skills." He looked at the top of the 2x3 tablet sitting on the easel; he saw several pages had been ripped out.

"He's been practicing awhile, and by what I see, he is ready to paint. He has perfected his talent beautifully."

"How so, Neal?" Peter still only saw doodling.

"Watercolors, being water based have a tendency to run together if you are not careful, you have to preplan your painting more then with oil, there is less room for error. Try to correct a mistake too many times and you end up with a muddy brown color. It's also one dimensional; it doesn't have the texture of oils."

"Then why use it?"

"Some like it for its calligraphic immediacy, luminous color when used well, it's unpredictability, and it's relative speed when compared with other mediums."

"Then why don't you use it?"

Neal looked at Peter like he was an idiot, "Money, Peter. A watercolor by a famous artist will sell for about one tenth of what his oils sell for."

"But, back to Damon." Neal could not keep the sparkle out of his eyes as he proudly pointed to different 'doodles' on the paper. "See here, I told you watercolor is one dimensional, but you can see the hair texture here. Looks like some kind of animal markings, not sure with just the bit he painted, but you feel like you could reach out and touch hair…."

He pointed to another doodle, "And see here, the grass, a perfect blending of green base to the seed engorged top." He studied the different test paintings. "He has talent. He is ready to paint whatever he has planned." He flipped up a couple sheets, they were empty. "Whatever he has planned…."

Peter was more impressed by Neal's reactions then by what he saw. He could tell Neal saw talent. "What do you think he planned?"

Neal studied the paper, thought a minute, "I don't know, Peter. It's mostly earth tones, only a touch of soft pink, yellow and purple but those look like he might have been experimenting with wildflowers. But then he's got these bright red flowers that contrast to the rest. I have no idea what he planned."

They left the easel and continued searching the room, hoping against hope to find some clue as to where he went.

Neal found his sketch pad in the drawer in his night stand. "Peter, didn't El buy him a Strathmore brand pad? This is a Pacon." He pulled the sketch pad out.

"I don't know what brand it was." He looked at the pad, "But it wasn't blue."

Neal opened the pad, half the pages were ripped out and then he looked at the colored sketching pencils, they were well used, several no more than nubs. He was sure El bought him a 100 sheeter, so was this one. Approximately 150 sheets were missing, no way did their few 'heist' sketches account for that. "Peter, did you find any sketches."

"No. Why?"

"He has sketched over 100 sketches. Where are they?"

They searched the room again. Why the trashcan was the last place they looked, who knows? Damon had a trashcan with shredder attachment. Peter wondered where and when he got that. Neal pulled out colorful shredded paper, enough to account for 3-4 sketches.

Peter wondered why Damon would shred his sketches.

Neal paled at the thought. He understood occasional destruction of something incriminating, or not good enough to keep, but everything? Every time an artist created, he put a little bit of his soul into his creation; Damon was destroying a little bit of his soul every time he destroyed his art...

Neal shook his head, no, maybe that wasn't it. Maybe the drawings were hidden somewhere else, he hoped.

***WC***

They did not find Damon as quickly as they had hoped. Since he was still in the WITSEC program, Peter used government resources he would not normally have access to in a mere runaway case. He was technically a missing witness and could be in danger. Hughes frowned at the misuse of assets, but let Peter alone for a while. Peter had the NYPD checking all the known runaway and homeless hangouts in an effort to locate the boy. He also had alerts sent to all FBI offices from New York to central Texas in case the boy headed back to his Texas home.

Peter had trouble concentrating on working cases and both Jones and Diana demonstrated their leadership abilities by picking up the slack. He watched Neal like a hawk. He believed Neal somehow had gotten the U-boat treasure and maybe had Damon hidden away and planned on disappearing with both.

Toward the end of the year, Hughes informed Peter that his supervisors were noticing Peter's lack of interest in current cases and needed to straighten up before it was taken out of Hughes hands.

***WC***

Neal searched for Damon in his area of expertise and he pushed Mozzie constantly to find information on his whereabouts.

"Where's Damon, Moz? Where'd he go?"

"He's **a ghost man.** He **did an outstanding job of melting away."**

"**Keep looking. Check** Queens."

"Queens?"

"**I know, it's probably nothing. Just look everywhere."**

Moz changed the subject, "What about the treasure Neal? **We finally got our white whale."**

"**Peter suspects something. We need to take our time and do it right. "**

"**I can be ready in a few days."**

"I'm not leaving until Damon is found."

Moz was disconcerted, "Seriously? Is he going with us?"

Neal considered the idea, "No."

"Then why don't you let the Suit handle it?"

"Moz, I have to make sure he's alright. Once I leave…" He left the thought unsaid, if he left, he would never see Damon again.

Moz wanted to keep him on track and raised his glass in a toast. **"To our best and final score."**

Neal couldn't help but return the toast. He needed to find Damon quickly.

***WC***

Since Damon slept the school hours away, nothing else to do in the boring apartment, he roamed the streets at night. Actually, he roamed the rooftops. He could clear the streets below before he scurried down a fire escape, crossed a street, and scurried up another fire escape on the other side. Since he was not in the best of neighborhoods, more than once he had been chased by gang members, but he always reached the rooftop before they were halfway up the fire escape. When he reached the top and checked the enemy's progress his mind yelled _'Parkour!_' in victory and he disappeared out of sight.

Often in the evenings he just sat and watched the city below. He would look toward the Burkes house and wonder what they were doing, he couldn't see their house, it was several miles away, but he always knew what direction it was_. Where they sitting down to dinner? Where they walking Satchmo? Where they watching a game? Was Neal visiting them? _He liked to picture them and imagine what they were doing. Since he had never been to Neal's place, he had no images to bring up there. Sometimes he would wipe a stray tear and wonder where it came from.

He had plans of looking for Neal when he turned eighteen, if Neal didn't want to see him, no problem, just a quick Hi and a 'Bye would do. But that was over four years away, it seemed like an eternity.

On Thanksgiving he wondered if the Burkes went to the Burke clan gathering. He imagined they had a lot more enjoyable time this year than last without having to deal with his idiosyncrasies. Man, he had been such a child back then!

On the first of December, he moved himself and Jake again. He had led a secretive life for too long to not follow instinctual precautions. Jake protested, he did not understand, but Damon was in charge and he obeyed. Come Christmas he did not have the problems of the last year. Where he lived, the decorations were too pathetic to upset him, and when he went to 'work' the decorations were the least of his worries. They also were a sign of fat wallets and fewer scams to get the needed funds for survival.

First of January they moved again. Damon was getting efficient with his ability to support both him and Jake and they found a slightly upgraded apartment. It had a real stove, a working refrigerator and the heat usually worked. It still had resident cockroaches and mice for Damon to defend against.

Damon was starting to get really bored. The challenge of survival had become habit. It had become too easy. He had heard all of Jake's stories twenty times. He started taking the sub into the nicer part of the city to wander the streets at night. They imposed a curfew there, so he had to be cautious.

***WC***

During one of his nighttime wanderings he noticed he was by the Belenky Brothers on Grand St. Without comprehending what he was doing, his mind clicked through the items in his backpack and quickly surmised that he had what he needed to pull the heist he and Neal had planned so long ago. Before he realized it, he was at the point of entry with his lock picking tools out. He had purchased them over a month ago from a shop secretly dealing in said products.

He easily let himself in and worked his way through the gallery exactly according to plan, circumventing the hidden camera and constantly aware of any new upgrades in security. He reached the center display case with no problems. His heart was racing; the world focused in perfect clarity, his whole being was tingling. He checked the security on the display, piece of cake. When he held the long thin necklace of perfect yellow stones he felt an amazing rush go through him. _Calm down_, he told himself, _you have to get out of here first._

He started to retrace his steps then noticed the way one of the lights was focused on the wall in front of the hidden camera. He couldn't help himself, he was high, he was invincible and most of all, he was of Caffrey blood. He slid his fist sideways toward the light to create a shadow on the wall. Just a small shadow, just the end of his fist, barely more than the knuckles. He smiled as he did it.

He exited the gallery without further disruption and headed home carrying the necklace in his pocket. Once he had to duck behind a dumpster to ride the wave of the rush that overwhelmed him when he reached his hand into his pocket and touched his trophy. He wondered if that's what drugs felt like and thought that if they did, that would explain why people got hooked on them.

Damon made it home without incident. Jake was asleep when he got there so he pulled his plunder out and let it run through his fingers while he enjoyed another adrenaline rush pass through his body, this one allowed to take full control because he was in a safe place to enjoy it. When the rush had run its full course, he felt totally drained. He hide the necklace behind a lose board in the wall and went to sleep.

Since he had been living away from Satchmo, he discovered he still had the dream. He only had it two to three times a week and usually not that bad. Two or three times a month, the dream took him all the way to the end and he had to rush to the sink to expel the contents of his stomach. That morning, he was exhausted enough for the dream to travel its full course, but afterwards, he took out the necklace and it counteracted the residual effects of the dream quite nicely. He replaced the necklace and returned to bed.

***WC***

The next afternoon, knowing he could not store his prize in the rat trap they lived in he told Jake they needed to go on an errand.

"You gonna buy me some wine?"

"Yes Jake, when we're done."

"Why can't I have it first?"

"Because I said so, Jake. I'll buy it when we come back."

"Okay."

Damon thought handling Jake was just like handling a child, but he didn't mind, Jake fit into his life perfectly and they mutually benefited each other.

They caught the subway into a relatively safe middleclass district. For some reason he had scoped out storage facilities before and now he was glad he did. They headed for the one he selected. One that was accessible all night and the cameras could be avoided.

As usual, Damon did all the talking. He made arrangements to rent a small unit, bought a lock, a small stack of collapsed boxes and wrapping material. He waited while Jake signed the rental agreement, then they took the supplies to the unit and locked it up. He knew Jake wouldn't even remember they rented it by tomorrow.

Before they got home, Damon let Jake purchase the promised wine. Once home he watered it down, and gave Jake his guaranteed reward.

That night, he took the necklace to the storage unit. He built the boxes, placed the packing material in them, and then hid the necklace in one of them, but not until after he enjoyed another rush from the touch of it. He buried the necklace box under the empty boxes and exited the unit heading home.

***WC***


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Spoiler:** Scott Free 3/6. **Quotes are in bold.**

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**DAMON III** **(3)**

A few days later White Collar received a new case. NYPD could find no forensic evidence in the robbery of a small gallery. Only one item was stolen, which was peculiar in itself, but proceeds from the sale of the item were to benefit a research foundation and the foundation was upset about the loss of funds, and they had friends with pull.

The case was small time for White Collar, but power has its privileges. Peter looked the case over and passed it to Neal to check out, it was hardly worth wasting his time on when Damon was still out there. The item stolen was a 'cultured' yellow diamond necklace with 72 stones for a total of 64 carats set in platinum created by Gemesis. It was valued at $500,000.

Neal looked the case over with nostalgia; it was the first gallery Damon had submitted plans on. Neal sighed, wondering why they could not find Damon. Without even thinking what he was doing, he bumped fists with the shadow in the photograph.

Just like NYPD, they could find no forensic evidence and no matching modus operandi in their files.

***WC***

After about seven days, Damon's ability to get high touching the necklace started wearing off. His mind started to roam to new possibilities. He remembered his second 'heist' and thought about it, the Aaron Faber Gallery on 5th Ave. He went over all the needed supplies in his head. With his near photographic memory, he remembered every little detail he and Neal had worked out. He got the supplies together.

Ten days after his first job, he was standing on 5th Ave, near the Aaron Faber Gallery. It was the wee hours of the morning and no one was about. He climbed the fire escape of a nearby building and crossed roof tops until he was on top of the target gallery looking down at the small skylight. It was too small for any adult to use so it wasn't protected.

He carefully undid the screws and set them aside; he then tied his short length of rope to a support and climbed down it to the interior. Once inside, he started swinging on the rope until he could grab the support pole a few feet to the side, tied the rope around the pole for his exit, then slide down into the interior. He felt the rush heading for him, _sweet._

He worked his way carefully to the displays, his mind in high gear, evaluating every possible angle in the defenses, and saw a necklace that caught his breath, an emerald and diamond necklace. It was stunning. It had sixteen large emeralds in varying sizes top to bottom, all surrounded by and connected with over 200 small white diamonds….

He quickly evaluated the security on the display, thwarted it, and held the necklace in his hand. _Why don't people guard their stuff better? _He fought hard to control the rush as he slid the necklace into his pocket. He looked around, saw what he wanted and carefully worked his way to the light. Again, he slid the top of his fist in front of the light casting a shadow on the wall in front of a camera. He couldn't help but grin.

He maneuvered back to the pole, shimmied up it, untied the rope, climbed that to the skylight, and exited the building. There was not even a hint of an alarm. He placed the skylight back in place, replaced the screws, then covered the exposed metal with dirt where the screwdriver had scratched the rust away, hiding all evidence of tampering.

He went straight to his storage unit without touching the necklace. Once there he pulled it out of his pocket and let the thrill wash over and through him. He wondered if it felt like this for Neal. He wondered why Neal didn't tell him. He wondered how Neal could stop.

***WC***

White Collar received another jewelry heist case. NYPD sent it straight to them because of the shadow on the wall. This time it was not cultured stones, it was the real thing, an emerald and diamond necklace by Bvlgari, estimated value between one and one and a half million dollars. Again, the thief had only removed the one item when he could have taken so much more. Peter had a lead on some kid in Oklahoma and again gave the case to Neal to check out.

Neal almost paled when he saw the gallery, Aaron Faber, Damon's second heist. _No_, he told himself quickly, _no it can't be, no way_. He went to investigate the crime scene. He made a proper show of looking at everything and slowly worked his way to the small skylight. When no one was looking, he wiped the dirt off the screw tops and saw the shiny metal underneath. He quickly recovered the screws with dirt. He knew that no one bigger than Damon could fit through that skylight.

But he also knew it would take an agile person to succeed, there was a display case directly below the skylight so one couldn't just drop straight down. He remembered Damon's plans to swing to the support post; was he dexterous enough to do that? Would he have planned it that way if he wasn't?

He texted Moz to meet him at home that night.

He returned to the FBI unit acting as normal as he could and informed Peter he couldn't find any new evidence in the case. The old Peter would have detected the false sincerity in Neal's voice, but the lead in Oklahoma didn't pan out and his thoughts were full of Damon. Neal was getting really worried about his friend; he needed to get himself together. Neal knew he had to find Damon, both for the sake of his friend, and before Damon dug himself in any deeper, if it was Damon.

***WC***

When Moz arrived at Neal's place that evening, he anticipated Neal's first question, "No, Neal, there is no sign of him. He has gone off the grid. Are you sure he's even in New York? He would be wise to leave for sunnier pastures." He helped himself to some wine and sat down at the table.

Neal was pacing the floor, "No Moz, he is still in the area. I feel it. And now this." He tossed the files of the two robberies in front of Moz. "He planned those robberies and showed me his plans for my approval!"

Moz looked through the files and slowly stated, "It doesn't mean he did them…."

"Moz, what if he did! What if he….?" He was frantic, he left the rest unsaid.

Now Moz was getting worried, "You mean 'what if he's like you'?"

"YES!" Neal tried to calm down, tried to control his fear. "Moz check your sources. See if those necklaces have been fenced. I need information. I need to find him before….."

"I hate to tell you Neal, but if he did these, it's probably already too late."

"MOZ!"

"I will check my contacts, but no one I know would be interested in cultured diamonds, too gauche."

"Moz…..?"

"Alright, alright, I will have my contacts check their contacts. I'll see what I can do. Why are you so sure it was him?"

Neal walked over and showed him the Aaron Faber file, "I found the point of entry. I couldn't fit through that skylight!"

"Does the Suit know this?"

Neal started pacing again, "No, I can't tell him. What if he doesn't want Damon anymore once he knows?"

Moz lifted his wine, "Then we take him with us!"

Neal sat down and put his head in his hands, "I wanted so much more for him…."

"More than partial ownership of an island?"

"Yes Moz."

***WC***

Again, as before, Damon's high holding his treasure started dissipating after about a week. He found holding both necklaces at the same time helped, but that too soon wore off. He needed at hit just as bad as any junkie. He searched his memory for another planned heist.

He remembered the Guggenheim had some Cezanne's. Cezanne's still Life: 'Flask, Glass, and Jug' was of interest to him, it was the smallest Cezanne in the gallery.

Like the others, it was easy, his analytical mind was able to assess and calculate all hidden security systems. But his naivety forgot to figure in the size, it was approximately 22x26 inches with frame. He didn't forget to leave the mark of the shadow. He had no problem removing the painting from the gallery, but carrying it slashed to his backpack through the streets was a little hairy.

He safely arrived at his haven, his treasure trove, his storage unit, and let the adrenaline rush through and over him….

***WC***

Barely more than a week after the, Aaron Faber theft, Neal heard Diana say the words he dreaded the most, "Looks like The Shadow has struck again. This time it's a Cezanne painting."

Neal read the files; the Guggenheim was another 'planned' heist of Damon's. He called Moz to see if any information had come back on the necklaces and when Moz responded in the negative, he added the Cezanne to the list of suspect items.

Moz was impressed, "A Cezanne? Did you know one of his paintings sold for over sixty million dollars?"

"Yes Moz, his 'Rideau, Cruchon et Compotier', this is Fiasque, verre et poterie, a different still life. Can you check for me?"

"Too bad, I have several buyers who would have been interested in the 'Curtain, Jug and Fruit Bowl'….."

"MOZ!"

"Alright, alright! I'll check my contacts for the 'Flask, Glass and Jug'. Have you told the Suit yet?"

Neal rubbed his temples, "I'm going to have to."

"What if he sends you back?" He studied Neal, hoping, "We can always take Damon with us…."

"No, Moz. Not if Peter still wants him. I can't."

"Your call, my man."

***WC***

Neal was confused about his own motives in this current situation. Yes, he ended up in prison twice as a direct result of his love for Kate, but that was different. He was a romantic by nature and all he did for Kate was in the hopes of living his life with her. Why was he putting his freedom on the line for Damon? He had no plans of a personal future with him; his plans were totally and completely for Damon's future, with or without him. Why would he put everything he had on the line for Damon alone? This altruistic side was new to him and it confused him. Yes, he had helped Peter in many a case, helping to lock up former acquaintances and criminals, but that was still self-gratifying, self-serving. Why would he throw it all away for Damon? He knew he had to move, he had to make his discussion, and he had to do what he must before he chickened out….

***WC***

That night he invited himself to the Burke's home. He did not want lots of feds around him, lots of guns around him, lots of handcuffs around him, and definitely not SA Hughes around him when he told Peter. And he did want Elizabeth around him to calm Peter's reaction….

"Peter, we need to talk."

Peter was not in the mood, he had to get back on tract, he had to focus on his job before he lost it all, and he wanted Damon back. He did not want to hear about another of his CI's bogus problems…

"What about Neal?"

"Damon." With that, Neal tossed the three files on the table in front of Peter.

Peter slowly, carefully, picked up and glanced at the three files. He saw they were about the newest white collar perpetrator to come into their sights, 'The Shadow', but he was not that interesting, not that great, he was not a Neal Caffrey….

"These have nothing to do with Damon. What are you talking about, Neal?"

Neal swallowed, he reran his options through his head, he regrouped, "I think these are Damon's work."

Peter sat up, alert, "WHAT?"

Neal swallowed hard, "I have reason to believe Damon pulled these jobs."

Peter let out a long controlling breath, "Enlighten me."

"Peter, promise me you won't send me to prison?" After all, Neal was still self-preserving…

Peter was trying to maintain control, "Neal…."

El stepped in, she just wanted Damon back and she didn't care how it was accomplished. "Hon, be nice. Let him speak freely."

"Okay Neal, but talk. Now!"

Neal fearfully explained to Peter of the lessons he and Damon had had together. How all three of the heists were a part of the training, and accomplished exactly according to the instructions. He tried to explain how Damon had conned him into the lessons, but both Peter and El had frowned at that. He watched Peter's growing anger and was so thankful of El's constant hold on Peter to prevent him from destroying him on the spot. When he was done, he even did a demonstration fist bump with the shadow, explaining that was something he might have done if he had started as young as Damon.

Neal waited silently while Peter cooled down and collected his thoughts. "And what about the locks and the security systems?"

"Well…" Neal tried to look contrite, "He conned me into lessons on those too…"

El had to literally hold Peter in place to prevent bloodshed.

"And I am to assume you already have your contacts looking for the stolen items?" Peter asked, trying to control his voice.

"Yes Peter."

A timeless silence passed. Neal hesitantly spoke again, "Peter?"

"What."

"Do you still want to adopt him?"

Peter's stare made Neal want to crawl into a hole, "And why wouldn't we want to!" Peter had to think, to regroup, **"What do you think of him? What do you think is going on with him?"**

Neal told the truth, **"He's a kid having the time of his life. He's impulsive, arrogant, and has no idea how deeply in over his head he is."** Neal paused, hesitated, **"Ok, fine. He bears a cursory resemblance to me.** Maybe more than cursory…."

Peter was thinking, evaluating, not only about Damon, but Neal,** "Do you think we can bring him back from the dark side?"**

Neal shook his head, **"It's hard to tell."**

Peter looked at Neal even closer, **"I wonder what would have happened if I had caught you earlier."**

"**It wouldn't have made a difference Peter, it's a rush, and it's an addiction. You need to hit rock bottom before you can change**. **He is addicted."**

Peter wanted the cure, **"When did you hit bottom?"**

"**I never said I did."**

Peter's head was whirling, thinking, evaluating, he didn't believe it was too late for Neal, but Damon was his priority now, he could not allow Damon to reach the point Neal had,

"Then we have to make sure Damon hits rock bottom…"

Neal lowered his head, knowing he was betraying one of his own, "Yes Peter, we do."

Together they made plans on how to bring Damon back from the dark side once they found him….

***WC***


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**DAMON III** **(4)**

Damon was not stupid, he was not dumb, he knew the possibility that Neal might have caught on to his actions. By figuring a probability equation based on his practice heists with Neal he was able to anticipate where they would look for him to hit next; if they were looking for him. Based on those projections, he improvised a non-probability equation to decide the point of his next 'high'. He thought Agent Burke would be proud of his ability to use mathematical equations in such an unorthodox manner.

He had several non-probability prospects; one was the Museum of Science. He read in the paper that they were to have a showing of Albert Einstein's original 46 page manuscript of his Theory of Relativity. Although the manuscript would be displayed in individual sheets, it would be shipped as one manuscript. He made his plans….

While he was perfecting his plans for the manuscript, he started an oil painting. He had an insatiable desire to see if he could hold up to his blood lines. He had to go to the library to find a book with the picture he wanted, most of the poorer libraries had books with inferior prints, but he finally found a library with one that had the detail he needed. He found the tell-tale scanner device inside and very carefully cut it out….

***WC***

White Collar was active again with Peter in full charge. Hughes was relieved that Burke had regained his senses and put his heart back into the job and not on that worthless Caffrey delinquent that had almost ruined his career.

'The Shadow' was at the top of the White Collar's hit list. All of Damon's practice heists were under surveillance; Peter thought it was just a matter of time before they caught him. Then the Museum of Science was hit and Einstein's manuscripts for the Theory of Relativity were stolen with the tell-tale shadow. Peter gave Neal the two-finger point to get to his office, now.

Peter growled at Neal, "Why didn't you tell me about the Museum of Science?"

Neal was on the defensive, "We didn't plan a heist there."

"Are you lying to me?"

"No Peter! I want to catch him just as bad as you do! He never submitted plans for that!"

Peter considered Neal, for a change he thought he could tell Neal was not lying, he exhaled, "He figured we'd catch on, and he changed tactics, didn't he?"

Neal smiled proudly, and then killed the smile immediately when Peter glared at him, "That's what I would have done."

"Neal, we have to get ahead of him! Where would you go next?"

"Peter, I've been thinking…"

"Sounds dangerous…" Peter paused and gave in, "About what?"

"When I started…." He paused, "When I allegedly…"

Peter was getting impatient, "Damn it, Neal!"

"When I theoretically did my first big job, Moz was there." He hesitated; he did not want to go on.

"Neal…." Peter tried to remain calm….

"Okay, Moz kept me in line, kept me on track. And I…"

"Go on…."

Neal was starting to fidget, "I was older, more in control of myself…."

Peter thought that was a matter of opinion, "Continue…"

"And I was not a …" he coughed, "a virgin."

Peter was not impressed, what was Neal trying to say?

"Peter, Damon has no control. No one to guide him, no one to control him, and he's fourteen, his hormones are well, you know…"

"What Neal?"

"Starting! He's a virgin! This is a high like nothing he's experienced! No control, hormones wacked and no sexual experience to side track him! He cannot stop!" There he said it, he sat back waiting for Peter to figure it out.

Peter evaluated Neal's explanation; it made sense, too much sense. "Are you relating the high to sex?" Peter found that hard to believe.

"When you've never had any, YES! Peter when you caught me, you felt a high."

Peter smiled, "Yes I did."

"Multiply that, say by ten. That's what Damon's experiencing."

Peter did think. "Neal, you're saying he's only going to get worse unless he finds another source of relief or a source of control."

"Yes."

"What about you Neal? Have you found another source?"

Neal flashed his covering smile, "Of course Peter! I have many sources of relief!" But then, in a rare moment of honesty, he lifted his pant leg uncovering his anklet. "And a source of control."

Peter earnestly considered him, "What happens when that comes off Neal?"

Neal stared him straight in the eye, "I honestly don't know, Peter."

***WC***

When Damon finished his Monet and started aging it, he started painting a Van Gogh. Meanwhile, he was in serious need of a fix.

He read in the paper that Todd McFarlane was visiting New York with his $3 million dollar Mark McGwire's 70th homerun baseball. He didn't really want to steal from an individual, which made things too personal. But a baseball.… Agent Burke loved baseball…. He evaluated the surveillance at the hotel McGwire was staying at, contemplated the risk, and moved to collect his reward for a job well done.

He took the baseball to his storage space and reveled in the thrill of the accomplishment. He even imagined Agent Burke and him tossing the ball back and forth….

***WC***

Between heists, Damon still had a 'job' to do. When he wanted a break from the pickpocket market, he put on his 'Adler' suit and went to the theater, the opera, the ballet or Avery Fisher Hall where the Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra played. Since he still looked no more than twelve, he easily snuck in by pretending he was with non-suspecting adults. Not only did he enjoy the performances, but he could usually score a few hundred dollars if he was careful. Many remembered the beautiful smiling blondish haired boy, but again, never when they found out their money was gone.

Sometimes during his nighttime wanderings he would find himself in the Burke's neighborhood, sometimes he was actually in front of the townhouse before he realized where he was. He would move back into the shadows and look at the house, remembering the good times he had there, but when the tears started, he would chide himself for his childishness and move on. A couple times he imagined seeing Satch's nose moving the curtain….

***WC***

There were times Satchmo would whine softly and scratch at the door, he was sure he sensed his boy out there, but his mistress and master were always sound asleep and Satchmo was too well behaved to wake them up with a bark….

***WC***

Peter slammed his fist on his desk, "A baseball!"

Cringing slightly, Diana responded, "Yes boss."

"Isn't that a little out of character for the Shadow?" Peter was hoping…

Diana was one of the few privy to the knowledge that Damon was prime suspect for The Shadow, "Maybe we have a copycat, Boss."

When Neal got Peter alone he spoke from the heart, "Peter, it's not a copycat."

"Why not Neal? Why can't it be?" Peter wanted it to be a copycat; he did not want it to be Damon.

"Because he's a kid. He has no control. He steals what strikes his fancy."

"Did you?"

"Peter, at his age, I had no time for frivolity. I have no idea what he is thinking."

Peter turned to Neal, "Then maybe I don't need you. Maybe I should send you back to prison." He was still furious with Neal for teaching Damon in the first place.

Neal looked him square in the eye, "Do what you have to when we're done. Let's find Damon first."

That really stunned Peter; he had never seen Neal so self-sacrificial before.

***WC***

Damon finished aging his Monet 'Water Lilies'. He took it to the Met where the original was on temporary loan. Something happened while he was in the Met, something he could not explain. His brain, which often took off on its own tangent, became…. became….

He placed artificial pressure on the frame alarm to remove it from the wall. Then he took the original out of the frame and replaced it with his forged Monet. He replaced the picture on the gallery wall, removed his device and stepped back, he couldn't tell the difference from before and after. Perfect. He did not do his token shadow. If they knew he traded paintings, it would not be a successful heist. He carefully rolled up the original Monet and slid it into the protective tube.

He took it to his shed and enjoyed his rush.

***WC***

Peter had to go to Hughes to talk about his plans for Damon once he was found. Hughes exploded when he found out Damon was The Shadow, he re-iterated that he knew the kid was no good. He did not like Peter's plans for probation; he wanted the kid locked up. Peter had to do some of his best persuading to remind Hughes of the kid's age, and explained how he would not go to a federal prison, but a juvenile facility and the way the boy walked in and out of high security areas, what chance was there of a juvenile facility holding him? And once lose, what more havoc could he bring down on them?

At least that backed Hughes down from wanting to just throw him in jail and lock the doors. Peter continued explaining his plans. Hughes finally agreed but with a few stipulations of his own. He would be Damon's supervisory agent, Peter would be custodial agent. Any changes in Damon's probationary conditions would have to go through Hughes. Damon would still belong to White Collar, he would live with and answer to Peter while at home, but at the office, he would answer to Hughes. Hughes felt Peter was too emotionally involved, so he decided he would make all decisions.

Peter fought hard for and was able to get the condition that if Damon completed his probation, his record would be kept clean, as long as all items were recovered.

***WC***

Damon read that the Met had lent Degas' 'Rehearsal on Stage' to The New York Academy of Art on Franklin St. It was so much easier than stealing from the Met. Of course, he had to leave his fist bump shadow. He stored it in his storage shed.

***WC***

Almost three weeks went by before the Shadow struck again. Peter had hoped against hope that the kid had gotten bored with his game. When the Degas was reported as one of the Shadow's, he knew the kid would not stop until they caught him.

White Collar had no choice. The boy had stolen two pieces of expensive jewelry, Einstein's manuscript, two paintings, and a baseball. Peter refused to put out a wanted poster on him so they started a missing child poster campaign across the city.

Their first good lead came from a waitress who saw the poster. She remembered Damon because he had looked like a bum, but had given her a $5 tip. She positively identified Damon, and sat with a sketch artist to draw a sketch of the old wino who had accompanied him.

They questioned the local winos and they identified the old man as Jake, last name unknown, but hadn't seen him around since winter started. One of them remembered seeing a boy guide Jake away.

Once they realized the possibility he was living with and adult, their search parameters changed again. They added the description of Jake, they did not believe he was capable of being involved in the robberies but he was still searched for as a potential suspect.

A librarian also called in a sighting, but she said the boy she saw had dirty blond somewhat frizzy hair. When questioned one on one, Peter was positive the boy she saw was Damon.

A hotel resident called in to repot seeing Jake, but reported he was with his light brown haired grandson. They had him sit down with a sketch artist, and the resulting boy was Damon with badly bleached hair.

They changed their search to look for a dirty blond somewhat frizzy haired boy living with his older alcoholic grandfather.

Reports of sightings slowly starting flowing in…..

Moz also put out the new information to his underground network.

***WC***

Damon finished and aged his Van Gogh 'Starry Night' and took it to the Met to exchange for the original. He repeated the same procedure as he had with the Monet. Since the first swap was undiscovered, security precautions had not been increased. The original he stored in another protective tube in his treasure shed.

***WC***

Another stretch of almost three weeks went by with no hits by the Shadow. Peter was hoping the boy hadn't seen the posters and skipped town. He pushed his teams harder to find him.

***WC***

Damon had seen the posters, but they were for a missing dark haired boy who looked well-off. He thought he was safe in his rundown neighborhood. No one cared about missing kids there, that was one of the reasons he selected the neighborhood.

And he needed another 'fix'. He went to a museum….

***WC***

Hughes was livid when the Museum of Natural History reported missing a gold ancient Inca llama statue on loan from the Koricancha Museum in Cusco, Peru. Security tapes confirmed it was the work of the Shadow.

Damon had stolen seven pieces in three months with no signs of slowing down, and he was barely fourteen years old. Hughes informed Peter that if he didn't catch Damon soon their deal was off and he would find a way to send the juvenile delinquent to a federal maximum security prison.

Peter stepped up his search; teams were almost working around the clock. Neal kept the pressure on Moz, who was equally determined to find Damon so Neal would leave with him and the treasure.

***WC***


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**Spoiler:** 'Where There's a Will' 3/02 **Just a quick quote in bold letters.**

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**DAMON III** **(5)**

Mozzie reported to Neal, who in turn reported to Peter of a positive sighting near a rundown hotel. They moved in and set up a lose perimeter around the area. They did not know if he was staying at the hotel and did not know if he was in or out. They didn't want to go banging on doors because Damon has shown an uncanny ability to disappear.

They waited.

Their spotter saw Damon exit the building in mid-morning, he didn't usually venture out at that time of day, but Jake wasn't feeling good and Damon needed to see what he could get for him from the local pharmacy with his 'ten fingered discount'. Peter's team was in place and ready.

Damon saw the new faces, they were distrustful; he checked his escape routes before he edged closer to the fire escape that he knew would take him up and away from the strangers.

"HALT! FBI!"

Damon sprinted. He knew he had it made, he would escape clean. His hand was almost on the bottom rung…

"DAMON! STOP!"

That voice… His voice….That command voice that he had obeyed so many times…. It stopped him in his tracks… Then he realized he was losing time and grabbed for the rung and started to pull himself up to safety. But he'd lost too much time and before he could pull himself up and away he was hit from the side and thrown to the ground; his hands were being pulled behind his back, handcuffs placed on his wrists… feet were running toward him…

Peter ran up, "Diana, I hope you didn't hurt him."

She put her arm under Damon's and easily lifted him to his feet, "Of course not, Boss." She kept a tight grip on his arm, he wasn't getting away again.

Damon's head was spinning; _what was going on? Why was the FBI here? Why was he handcuffed? Why was Agent Burke here?_ He stood silent and confused.

Peter watched the boy; Damon kept his head down and wouldn't look him in the eye. Peter was feeling a rush of emotions. He wanted to grab Damon and hug him, thankful he was safe. He wanted to grab him and throttle him for the hell he had put him and El through for the last six months. But he was a professional and he maintained his composure.

Diana had already started reading Damon his rights but his head was too chaotic to understand what she was saying. She asked him if he understood his rights and he didn't hear her.

"Damon!" She gave him a shake to get his attention, "Do you understand your rights as I have read them?"

_Rights? They read me my rights? Why? There is no way they could know anything_. He knew he had left no evidence. He remembered silence was one of his rights and opted to use it.

Peter frowned, "I know his rights and I am still his legal guardian. Take him back and put him in an interrogation room." He turned, "Jones! Help her."

Damon's head was still torrid with confusion; _Still my legal guardian? Why?_ Diana started pulling him toward an SUV when he stopped and turned, pulling against Diana, back toward Peter.

"Jake…?"

Peter observed him; he knew who Jake was, "What about Jake?"

"He… He's sick. I need to take care of him." _They had to let him go_. "He'll die without me."

"I'll check on him, Damon."

"No… You don't understand… He's… He's bad sick. He needs to go to a hospital." The man's health had been failing rapidly; Damon thought his liver was giving out after so many years of alcohol abuse.

Peter saw the concern in Damon's eyes, "I'll take care of him, Damon." He replied sincerely.

Damon was on the verge of tears, "Promise?"

"I promise, Damon. What room is he in?"

Damon did a quick inventory check, his brain wasn't functioning right and he had to think. No, there was no incriminating evidence in the room, he was sure of it.

"Room 322, key's in my pocket." He half lifted his hip, trying to indicate the pocket.

Diana dug out the key and tossed it to Peter. She then proceeded to guide Damon toward the vehicle.

Peter yelled out one more time, "Diana!"

She glanced back, "Yes, Boss?"

"Make sure he doesn't get away."

She had a tight grip on him, and Jones had moved to Damon's other side, "He won't Boss."

***WC***

Diana made Damon sit between her and Jones in the back seat of the SUV; there was no way she was going to take a chance of Damon getting away.

Damon couldn't stand the handcuffs, they made him feel suffocated, claustrophobic, he saw no sense in them, he had done nothing wrong, and so he slipped them off and brought his hands out in front of him.

Both agents frowned at him. "Not a smart move, Damon." Jones informed him.

When they got to the federal building, he was pulled out of the SUV, pushed against the vehicle, and his hands were re-cuffed behind his back. "Hughes expects you to be brought in in cuffs, I would advise you to leave them on!" Jones informed him as he and Diana took him up to their office.

Damon was placed in an interrogation room, immediately he slipped out of his handcuffs and threw them across the room. Diana and Jones just shook their heads, retrieved the cuffs and left him alone in the room with guards posted outside the door. Peter wanted him to sweat awhile.

Damon started pacing…. He could not understand why he was there, why Agent Burke still had custody, why he had allowed himself to get caught… This was way too much drama for one lousy runaway, what was going on?

***WC***

Peter watched them leave and then turned to Neal and a couple forensic team members, "Let's go check out his place." That had worked great; they had a key, permission to enter, and knowledge of someone sick inside needing medical attention. That would save them the hassle of a search warrant, and Peter did not want a warrant on record. They more kept off the record, the better for Damon's future.

They were disgusted by sights and smells as soon as they entered the building. They watched several roaches scurry out of their way as they climbed the stairs. They made their way up to the third floor and knocked as they turned the key, "FBI!" and entered the room.

It was a dump, kept neat, but a dump none the less. Neal was careful not to rub his precious suit on any surfaces. They put on their white gloves, subconsciously thinking they were not to protect the scene, but to protect themselves.

Peter saw the old man in the bed and moved toward him, "Jake?"

"Wha? Who you? Where Dama?"

Peter saw the condition of the old alcoholic, Damon was right; he needed a hospital, probably months ago. "My name's Agent Burke, I'm with the FBI, I'm here to help you." He proceeded to order an ambulance for the old man.

While waiting for the ambulance he tried to question Jake about Damon's activities, but soon ascertained that Jake had long ago lost his short term memory functions. About the only information he could get was,

"Dama goo boy. He bri me ha dogs." Although Damon hadn't given him a hot dog in a long time, he did his best to keep Jake and him on a more nutritious diet.

When asked if he had a pension or something to pay the bills, Jake half laughed, "No, Dama works, he pay aw ta bills and buy aw ta food, he a goo boy."

Jake noticed the people searching the room, "Fine my wine. Dama hide it from me. It's here sa'where. Fine it for me."

Once the ambulance took Jake away, protesting all the time that he needed his wine, Peter joined Neal to see if anything of interest had been found.

Neal pointed to some art supplies, "He's been painting."

Peter glanced around, "You didn't find any?"

"No."

Neither man wanted to talk about what that might imply.

They didn't find any evidence in the room. They did find Jake's wine, and Neal grimaced at the rock bottom priced brand, then took a harder look, opened the already opened bottle and checked the contents.

"Peter, this is seriously watered down."

"Guess Damon was doing what he could to help the old man…" Peter responded.

They did notice that their white gloves did not turn black as they had expected, even though the place looked filthy, Damon had done his best to clean it.

Both men were relieved when they left the rat trap.

***WC***

On the drive back to the FBI Headquarters both men rode in silence for a while; finally Neal spoke up,

"Are you ready for this, Peter?"

Peter glanced at him and then back at the road, determination written on his face, "I have to be."

Neal was starting to have second thoughts, "Maybe you don't have to be so hard on him…"

"Your idea Neal."

"Well, maybe I was wrong."

Peter heard the worry in Neal's voice, "No, Neal, you aren't."

"Have you called El yet?"

"No, she will just rush to headquarters and baby him. No, I'll tell her later."

"She's going to be mad if you don't tell her."

"Neal, I know what you're thinking; and if you call El, I will personally escort you back to prison!"

That shut him up, "Yes, Peter."

***WC***

When they got back to WC, Peter observed Damon for a while through the one way glass; he was still pacing and occasionally hitting a wall. Again, Peter had to suppress his desire to go wrap the boy in a hug. He was informed of Damon's disregard for handcuffs and that helped him with his resolve. At one point Damon had picked up the chair and had thrown it at the one-way glass, knowing he was being watched. Peter was thankful he was only 13/14 or he might have had to pay for the glass.

He waited until Damon finally burned the majority of his anger out and then called Neal.

"Okay Neal, you're up."

"Peter, do I have to, we already know he is…"

"Neal, we have to be 100% positive. Now go."

He watched and listened while Neal entered the interrogation room.

"Hey Bro, how ya doing?"

Damon looked at Neal suspiciously, _what was he doing in here?_

"Hey, sit down Damon. Relax. I brought you a root beer, here." He flashed a smile and set the can on the table and sat down.

Damon had been in that room for about three hours and he was thirsty, and Neal was basically harmless. He got the chair he had thrown against the wall and sat down, reaching for the drink.

"Guess you had a little fun while you were gone, didn't you Damon?"

Damon knew they had nothing on him, "No…."

"Oh come on Damon. What was it like? It's been awhile since I could have that kind of fun." He indicated his anklet.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Damon wasn't ignorant; he wasn't going to fall for this crap.

Neal leaned forward, "Damon, this is the FBI, they know."

"They don't know a damn thing." But Damon was starting to get worried.

Neal gave him his best 'are you sure' look. **"The crime isn't the hard part Damon. The hard part's getting away with it. You see, you never know how an investigation is going to go, or what little clues you might accidently leave behind." **

Neal let that sink in a minute and then pushed on, "Tell me, allegedly, what did it feel like?" He leaned forward further, conspiratorially, "How'd you like it."

"Allegedly?" Damon so wanted to share with Neal, he was the one person he knew that would understand.

Neal had a sparkle in his eye, he had quit faking, and he really wanted to share…. "Yes, allegedly Damon. Tell me how it felt."

Now Damon's eyes were starting to glaze with the memory, "It was amazing! I've never experienced anything like it! When I touched…" He caught himself, "When I allegedly touched it, it was like an explosion in my body. The world became clear, perfect, right…"

Neal could see Damon was in a mild rush just explaining the experience; he was hooked, totally and completely.

Damon went on, "Why didn't you tell me Neal? Why didn't you tell me what it actually felt like? It was awesome!"

Neal was back on track; he remembered why he was there and knew he had succeeded, "Because I didn't want you to know Damon. I never wanted you to know…."

He had to get up and leave the room before Damon saw the tears in his eyes.

He went to Peter's office and waited, he knew Peter would want to talk to him. Damon had reminded him how it felt. Could he quit? Sure he got little highs working for Peter when he had to do his cons for Peter, but the real thing? He started craving the rush Damon experienced and had to shut it down, Peter walking in the room helped.

"I guess we know now, don't we Peter. Even watching through that window, you couldn't miss it."

"No, I didn't miss it. Is that what it was like for you, Neal?"

Neal lied, "Maybe in my younger days."

***WC***

After about 30 more minutes Damon started yelling at the window, "Hey what do I have to do to use the bathroom around here?"

Two agents were sent in to escort him to the men's room.

_Geez_, he thought, _you'd think I was the Boston Strangler! Give me a break!_

But it was not Damon they were worried about; it was Peter's wrath if Damon somehow got away. When he was done they escorted him back and let him simmer some more.

Finally, Peter entered the room with seven case files. The Shadow files. He sat down and waited.

Damon paced some more, waiting for Agent Burke to yell at him, talk to him, or tell him to do something. But he just silently sat there. Finally Damon gave in and sat down across from him.

"Why am I here?"

Peter tapped the files, "To close these cases." He was so composed.

His calmness made Damon want to explode, "What, you brought me in here to solve some cases for you!"

Peter calmly sat there.

Damon jerked the files to him and looked at them; he paled when he saw it was seven of his heists. He shoved them back at Peter. "I don't know anything about those."

"Yes, you do."

Damon jumped up again pacing, he had left no evidence, of that he was sure._ How did they know? _He hit the wall. _What did they know? _He kicked the wall. _What did he miss?_ He was starting to lose control; he was starting to second guess himself,

"You have no evidence!"

No they didn't, but Peter just sat there, waiting, watching, and looking like he knew all.

Damon was getting scared, he didn't want to go to jail, they must have something or Agent Burke wouldn't sit there so sure of himself.

"I want immunity!"

"Do you still have all the items?"

Agent Burke was so calm, so cool, Damon wanted to scream. "I haven't fenced anything!"

Peter was relieved, that was one of the conditions of probation. He serenely waited.

Finally Damon returned to his seat, "Do I get immunity?"

"No."

He was up again, frantic, scared, on the verge of panic. "Don't I need a lawyer or something before you can question me?"

"I'm not here as an agent."

That stopped Damon in his tracks; _What?_ He looked at Agent Burke confused, on the threshold of a breakdown.

"I am here as your guardian, and I hope, as your future father."

Damon stood still, staring at Peter, unable to move, unable to breathe, he started trembling…. "Wha… What?"

"El and I want to adopt you."

The blood was rushing through Damon's head, he was feeling faint; he pointed at the files. "Even after I did that?"

"Yes Damon." Peter was up now, moving around the table, he could see the boy was faint, and ready. He wrapped his arms around him, finally being allowed to give into the need. Damon leaned into him, sobbing quietly.

Peter waited awhile for Damon to settle, "Do you trust me Damon?" Damon nodded. Peter lifted his chin to look him in the eye, "Do you trust me to make the best decisions for you as your father?"

Damon could barely see him through the tears, he nodded again. "Say it out loud Damon, I need to hear you say you trust me."

Damon could barely talk, "I trust you."

Peter let his chin go and held him tight. "You are going to go on probation Damon. It will be hard, but it will be the best thing for you. If you complete probation, you will have full immunity. Understood?"

Damon nodded; he had just placed not only his life, but his soul in this man's hands. He put his compete trust in him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**! WARNING !: ** I tried to write up at this point, but I could not. Logic told me the story must go down before it can rise back up. The next few chapters might seem harsh to some readers, plus **corporal punishment **will be discussed and/or used for the rest of this story. **If this offends you, please do not read on**. Accept that Damon has been found as the end. For those who do read on, it will go back up with time.

**DAMON III** **(6)**

Peter waited a little longer for Damon to regain some control.

"Damon we are going to go into Agent Hughes office and he will tell you what your conditions of probation will be." He felt Damon tense at Hughes name. "It'll be alright Damon, be strong."

He continued, "You are going to have to stand alone, he will not let me stand beside you. I'll be in the room, just not beside you." Again he had to calm Damon's reaction.

"You will have to wear handcuffs, and Damon." He lifted Damon's chin again, "Do not take them off. That is imperative." He let go of Damon's chin.

"You are not going to like what he says, but you have to stand strong and accept it. Can you do that Damon?" Damon slowly nodded his head yes, but he didn't know if he could.

"And you have to take us to where you have the stuff hidden when he is done. Okay?" Another head nod.

Peter continued to hold him, "Let me know when you are ready."

It took a while for Damon to gather his nerve, but finally he said he was ready.

Peter lifted his chin one last time, "Damon be strong. Hughes says if you want to commit crimes like a man you have to stand like a man. I'm not sure if I agree with him, but it's his call. Stand strong and we will get through this. Trust me Damon."

Damon didn't want to stand strong, he was scared to death, but he trusted Peter.

***WC***

Damon was escorted into Hughes office; Peter guided him to the spot he was to occupy and then gave him a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder before he moved to the side by the others. There were three other agents besides Peter in the room, Diana, Jones, and Franklin, two on each side of Damon standing against the walls.

Damon stood in front of Hughes desk, hands cuffed in front of him, head bowed. A scared child, physically fourteen years old, legally thirteen, but looking more like a twelve year old and right at that moment feeling even younger. He wanted to be anywhere but where he stood right that minute.

"Boy, you will look at me while I am addressing you." Hughes started in his naturally gruff voice.

Damon looked up, glancing first at Peter who inclined his head toward Hughes, encouraging Damon to do as instructed. Damon fearfully looked at Hughes. Hughes looked at him with his usual stern and severe countenance.

"It seems like you have gone on a little crime spree." Hughes indicated the Shadow files sitting in front of him.

"Let me explain something up front, boy. Burke might have his plans to adopt you, but right now you are technically no one's son. You are a ward of this unit. You belong to White Collar and Burke only has protective custody under the auspices of White Collar. And I am Burke's boss, which places me as the one who has the final say so over your disposition. Do you understand what I am saying, boy?"

Damon nodded his head.

"Answer me boy!"

Damon tried to swallow, his mouth was dry, "Y…. yes Sir."

"I am against putting you on probation; personally, I think you should be locked up. Some of the items you stole are priceless, but the estimated value of the rest is over thirty million dollars. These are no minor crimes. But Agent Burke has convinced me to give probation a try. And since you still belong to White Collar it falls under our authority to correct your illicit behavior."

Hughes paused and pulled a piece of paper in front of him. "I am going to list your conditions of probation boy, and you better listen good." Hughes sat back in his chair.

"You will have a three month work/house arrest. Work hours will be spent here. You will write full and detailed reports on every one of your little," He tapped the files, "adventures. You will not be allowed outdoors except to transport between house and office. What rules Burke sets up inside his home is his business, but you will not leave the home. Do you understand boy?"

"Y… yes Sir."

"After your initial period, you will be placed on regular probation. You will have more freedom, but you will be forbidden to enter or walk around any gallery, museum, or anywhere else you may be tempted. These probationary limits will be evaluated every six months to see if you have gained control of your impulse to steal."

Damon had paled at this, no visits to any of his favorite sites.

"The rest of your limits, curfews and restrictions will be given to you when your three months are up, and remember boy, this is an informal probation, so I can change the rules anytime I want to. Burke can add to any rules, but he cannot subtract from my rules, so don't even try to con him. Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir…"

"You will be forbidden any communication with Neal Caffrey during your initial period," Damon's head jerked on this, he wanted to share his experience with Neal, Hughes saw his reaction, "and, depending on how you are doing, is subject to being extended longer. Is that clear?"

Damon missed the question, he was thinking about Neal.

"Boy! Is that clear!"

Damon jumped, "Y… yes Sir…"

Hughes was sitting back in his chair. He did not understand why Peter wanted to adopt the kid, he was bad, and he had bad blood. Well, at least Peter would have three months to reconsider his insane idea since the boy would not be allowed to go to the court house for the adoption while on work/house arrest.

Hughes was ready to pass the condition he had not discussed with Peter, "Boy."

Damon had dropped his head back down during the brief respite, but now he lifted it back up before Hughes had a chance to yell at him again.

"Boy, they say it takes a village to raise a child, but now it looks like it's going to take an FBI unit to raise a juvenile delinquent. As I mentioned before, you belong to the White Collar unit. You see these agents around you?" Hughes swept his arm indicating the four agents in the room.

Damon knew who they were but made an obligatory glance to hopefully appease Hughes. Hughes acted like he was waiting for an answer…

"Yes Sir…"

Hughes leaned forward again, watching the boy, making sure he understood, "These are my best agents and since you belong to white collar, you also belong to them. They are all responsible for you. But with that responsibility, they need to have the means to enforce the rules. If you were an adult, I would have different means at my disposal to ensure your cooperation. But you are a child and Burke thinks you are salvageable, so I have decided on an alternate form of correction if you try to break the rules. I am giving every one of these agents permission to use corporal punishment on you if so needed."

Damon's face went white; he started messing with the handcuffs, ready to take them off, to run, and to get out of there. Peter cleared his throat, causing Damon to glance at him; he almost imperceptibly shook his head no. Damon's eyes pleaded with Peter's, and Peter's eyes helped calm him.

Peter didn't really have a problem with the order, he trusted every one of these agents not to abuse the power, and who knows, and it might help. But he was worried about Damon bolting. He kept Damon's eyes locked to his until he started regaining control.

Damon did not like the order; he thought it wasn't fair at all! But Agent Burke convinced him silently to accept the decree. He decided first time one of those agents laid a hand on him, no problem; he would be out the door. He wasn't really happy with the whole deal anyway. But he wouldn't stay in New York this time. He thought maybe he should go back to Texas….

Hughes allowed the silent communication. When he saw Damon had settled, he spoke up again, "I've heard that in the past you have given the Burke's problems when they tried to find a therapist for you. Is that so boy?"

Damon didn't really want to admit to that, "M… maybe… "

Hughes frowned, "Maybe?"

Damon fidgeted some more, "I guess Sir…"

"Well, it's not going to happen anymore. Once your initial probation is up, you will go to therapy and you will cooperate with the therapist. Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir." But he did not intend on cooperating, he hated shrinks in his head.

"I see the defiance in your eyes boy." Damon tried to duck, to hide his telltale eyes. "Look at me boy!" Damon looked back, fear overriding the defiance in his eyes. "That's better. If I hear a negative report from the therapist, I have any one of four good agents I can assign to take matters into their own hands, if I don't decide to make necessary corrections to your behavior myself. Do you understand what I mean, boy?"

Oh yeah, Damon understood exactly what he meant, he also decided that at the first opportunity he was so outa there, straight south might be good, maybe Jacksonville, Florida.

"BOY!"

He jumped again, "Y… yes Sir, I understand."

Hughes watched the boy for a minute; he really did not see what Peter saw in him. But he had to continue with the agreement he and Burke had made,

"Boy, do you accept the terms and conditions of your probation?" He was hoping he wouldn't, and then Burke would have to let him send him to a juvenile detention center.

No, he didn't accept them at all! Again he glanced at Peter, who gave him a slight nod. _Trust Agent Burke…_ "Y… yes Sir…"

Hughes was leaning back in his chair again; he tossed something onto his desk. "Agent Burke, you have the honors."

Peter stepped forward, picked the item up off the desk, and then set a chair in front of Damon. "Place your left foot on the chair, Damon."

Damon had seen the item. _No! No! No! They couldn't make him!_ He considered his options of bolting right then and there. Peter caught his eye and locked on.

Peter could almost hear the pleading in the boy's eyes, but he had to stay strong, it was the only way to save the boy from himself. Finally Damon gave into the command he read in Peter's eyes, _Trust Agent Burke. Trust Agent Burke._ The tears started flowing as he lifted his foot to the chair.

Peter snapped the tracking anklet on quickly before Damon had a chance to change his mind.

Damon felt like he had just hit rock bottom.

***WC***

When the meeting was done, Peter had to physically guide the child to his office and into a chair. He gently removed the handcuffs Hughes insisted he wear. The boy seemed severely depressed. Peter hated what they had done to the boy, he felt guilty. But what do you do with someone that's got mega brains, super talents, and no impulse control. It really was a dangerous combination.

Neal watched Peter guide the broken boy to his office. His heart went out to him, but he knew much that had just happened was on his recommendation. He even knew that he was forbidden to communicate with Damon for three months and he understood why. He knew Damon would start using him as a source to feed his addiction. Just telling him the little he did earlier, he started to get a rush. Neal sighed, it was not about him; it was in the best interests of the child.

Peter gave Damon a little time to pull himself back together and then asked, "Are you ready?"

Damon looked confused, "Ready for what….?"

"You still have to take us to where the stash is hidden, Damon. Remember?"

Damon didn't feel like doing much of anything until he realized it would get him out of there and away from Hughes. "Yes Sir."

Peter stood up and grabbed his coat, "Okay, let's go." He guided Damon to the door and indicated the agents who were to accompany them to follow. Neal was also to accompany them to authenticate the items, but he had to ride in a different vehicle.

***WC***

During the drive, Peter called El, "Hi Hon. We found him."

"I know! Do you know when you will be home? I'm cooking his favorites. How is he?"

"How did you know?" He was going to wring Neal's neck.

"Diana called me. Oh, she explained how I couldn't come down there and all, although I was tempted."

Okay, Neal gets to live another day, "Probably another hour or so Hon, then I'll bring our boy home." He liked the sound of that…

"Well hurry Hon, I don't know why you get to hog all the time with him!"

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Peter wasn't sure all the time he was 'hogging' was that great.

***WC***

Damon guided them to the storage facility; it looked like an old warehouse that had been converted. Once parked, he guided them down the passages and stopped at the end of one of them. It was a large passageway with the roof a good fifteen to twenty feet above them.

Peter looked around, "Why have we stopped here, Damon."

Damon was hesitant, he didn't know how they would take it, "I need to get the key."

There had been no keys in the hotel room, Peter thought Damon might have used a combination lock when he mentioned the stuff was in storage. "What key?"

Before anyone could stop him, Damon suddenly sprinted toward the end wall and scrambled up one of the steel support posts to the web steel joist supporting the roof. He monkey crawled upside down across the joist toward the center of the walkway.

By the time Peter caught his breath, he was afraid to yell, he didn't want to scare the kid, he tried to sound calm, "Damon… what are you doing…?" He tried to keep himself centered under the boy, hoping to catch him if he fell.

Damon looked down, a small smile on his face; he did love to climb, "Getting the key!" He reached to the top of the joist, then hung upside down, arms dangling, legs wrapped through the steel webs. "Catch!"

Without thinking Peter caught the key Damon dropped, wishing he could catch his runaway heart as easy, still trying to sound the calm he was not, "Damon… come down here now…"

Damon continued across the joist to the other end of the passageway and scrambled down the support. Peter grabbed him by his jacket collar and shook him. "What were you thinking?"

Damon looked up, confused, "I was just getting the key…"

Peter held tight to Damon's jacket the rest of the way to the storage unit. The knowledge hit him that if Damon had made it onto that fire escape that morning, they might not have caught him. As per Neal's recommendation, they had Damon stand and watch while they confiscated his prizes. The anxiety of watching his treasure taken from him was visibly obvious.

The Gemesis necklace was set down to open another box, it was within reach, it was Damon's first trophy, he reached out and grabbed it, part of its initial thrill hitting him again. Jones saw him,

"Give that to me, Damon."

"No! It's mine!" He held it close, feeling the rush.

Peter turned to the commotion and saw what the problem was; he saw the greed, the need, and the rush in Damon's eyes. He reached out, grabbed Damon's arm, turned him and swung. Everyone turned to the sound of the resounding smack.

Damon jumped, "F**K! What the hell!" Jones easily took the necklace from him.

Peter grabbed his arm tighter, bringing him closer, "You want more?"

Damon's face turned red with the knowledge he had just been spanked right here in front of everybody! "No… no Sir!"

"Then I advise you to stand there and don't move!" Peter glared at him a minute, then went back to work.

Damon backed himself tight against the wall and tried not to move a muscle; Agent Burke had a batter's swing! When no one was looking he rubbed the sore spot. He wished he was back at his apartment, master of his space, master of his world. The tracker felt like a lead weight around his ankle.

Then Neal found the two tubes and pulled out the rolled up canvases inside, he looked them over carefully, they looked like originals, he was stunned "Peter…"

Peter walked over and looked, "Are they originals?"

"Yes Peter, I think so. They are supposed to be at the Met."

"We didn't get any reports from there." They both looked at Damon. "Would you like to explain this Damon?"

_No he did not want to explain it._ "I… I… I replaced them." He tried to shrink into the wall.

Peter remembered the painting materials in the hotel room, "With what, Damon?"

"With… with mine…"

Peter sighed, "So now we can add forgery to your list of felonies."

Damon wanted out of there, he wanted to leave but the stupid tracker was stopping him, he smashed the tracker against the door frame in frustration, and then gasped at the pain in his ankle.

Neal grimaced, he had accidently bumped his a few times, and that hurt bad enough.

They found the nine items Damon had stolen and he assured them there was no more. Neal believed him and convinced Peter to also.

While his team took the stolen articles back to store in evidence until they could be returned to their rightful owners, Peter took Damon home.

***WC***


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**WARNING: Corporal punishment is used in this chapter. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional show.

**DAMON III** **(7)**

On the ride home, Damon was silent; Peter was not surprised, since they had purposely torn the boy down to rock bottom, now they had to build him back up. "How are you doing buddy?"

"Okay."

"What's going through that head of yours Damon?"

Damon was worried, "Does she know?"

That caught Peter off guard, "Does who know what?"

Damon swallowed, "Does Mrs. Burke know what I've done?"

Now Peter understood, "Yes Damon she knows everything, well everything but the two forgeries we just found out about."

Peter waited, but Damon didn't respond. "Damon, it will be okay. We will get through this."

Damon quickly wiped a tear, hoping Peter didn't see it, "How?"

Peter reached out with his right hand and rubbed Damon's head, _boy his hair felt brittle_, "Give it time Damon, it will work out with time."

They pulled up in front of the townhouse and Peter got out. Damon did not move. Peter walked around to the passenger door and opened it for him. "Come on son, we're home." He had to reach in to guide Damon out and to the house.

Damon saw him type the alarm code in, "You didn't change it?" He was genuinely stunned.

Peter looked at him, "Of course not Damon, we would never lock you out. We kept hoping you would come to your senses and come home."

Damon fought the tears; he had so misread everything…

"We'll probably change it now, for the next three months, just to keep you safe." Peter added as they entered the house.

Satchmo heard him and he smelled him, HIS BOY! He came bounding over, jumping all over Damon, and forgetting his training in his excitement. His boy was home! Damon dropped to his knees hugging his best friend.

El came rushing out of the kitchen and stopped when she saw Damon, "Damon?"

He stood, head bowed, "Yes Ma'am."

She wrapped him in a bear hug squeezing the breath out of him, "Thank God you're home!" She was laughing and crying at the same time. She held him at arm's length, "Look at you! I swear you've grown two inches! What did you do to your hair?" She ran her fingers through his hair. "Goodness, you fried it! Didn't you read the directions you silly boy! You've lost a little weight; well we'll just have to put that right back on!" She hugged him again, "Don't you ever do that to us again, do you hear me?"

Damon couldn't keep up with all constant chattering; he was too shocked and too squished by her reaction to his return. It was not at all what he had expected.

"And you're filthy of course. Get upstairs and get cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready." She gave him another hug, cringed again when she touched his hair and sent him on his way.

Peter put his arm around El while they both watched him head up the stairs. "I told you I'd find him, Hon."

She had tears in her eyes as she gave him a gentle slap on the arm, "Did you have to take so long?"

***WC***

Damon went upstairs wondering what Mrs. Burke expected him to wear. All of his clothes were left in the hotel room. He went into his old room to see if something had been left behind. He stood in his room, again shocked, nothing had changed. Except for the easel sitting in the center of the room, everything was the same. He checked the drawers and the closet, all of his clothes were still there. Did he misjudge everything so bad? Had they really wanted him to stay? He sat on the bed petting Satch, who of course had followed his boy upstairs. He could no longer stop the tears that had been trying to escape all day.

Peter filled Elizabeth in on all that had happened that day. She was upset that Hughes had been so hard on the boy and Peter had to assure her it would work out in the long run.

After a while, she realized the shower had never been turned on; you could hear the upstairs water running through the kitchen pipes whenever anyone used the upstairs facilities. "Peter, you need to check on him."

Peter rushed upstairs hoping he was still there, after today's little climbing episode, he wondered if escaping out a third story window would be an easy task for him, he considered if he should put bars on the third story windows.

He found Damon sitting on his bed with Satch. Damon was embarrassed and quickly tried to wipe away the tears. He jumped up, apologizing for not getting in the shower sooner and rushed to get a change of clothes and headed to the shower. Peter wasn't even given time to respond. He called after Damon to hurry, dinner was ready, and went back downstairs to El.

Damon had his emotions back under control by the time he got back downstairs; the shower had washed the evidence away from his face. El started bubbling again; pushing food at him to eat and that reminded him how he had to push Jake to eat,

"Sir?"

"Yes Damon?" Peter wondered when he would call him Dad.

"Jake…?"

"We called an ambulance for him. They took him to the hospital. Would you like me to make a call after dinner to check on him?"

"Yes Sir." Damon hesitated a moment. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"He doesn't know anything."

Peter studied him, "I know." There was something more Peter wanted to know. "Damon, you knew how sick he was. Why didn't you get him to a hospital sooner?"

Damon wondered how to explain the decrepit to the straight, "Because I know Jake. He would rather die drunk in the streets than sober in a mansion." He paused, "I can't go visit him, can I?"

"I'm afraid not Damon, not while you're under house arrest."

"He won't live three months. I doubt if he survives a month, especially if they make him stay sober."

Peter believed Damon was right, but refrained from verifying it.

El changed the topic to happier subjects.

After dinner Peter did make the call and basically got the report Jake was stable, he didn't pass on the report that Jake wasn't expected to live much more than a week, but he thought Damon might already know that.

***WC***

After dinner, and a few more after dinner hugs from El, Peter told Damon to go get ready for bed and wait in his room for him.

Damon protested; he was used to running the streets at night, "I'm not tired and anyway it's too early to go to bed."

Peter was stern as he responded, "Damon, do as you're told. I will be up there in a few minutes."

Damon did as told, his mind protesting the whole way. _Why the hell do I have to go to bed so damn early? Why is he coming up? I hope not to tuck me in! I am not a kid anymore, I am a man now! I used to make sure Jake was tucked in! This is ridiculous! I need to get this damn thing off my ankle; I don't know how much more I can take! _

As soon as he left, El put her arms around Peter, "Do you have to do it tonight? He just got home!"

He patted her arm, "Yes El, we need to get it past us. Besides, this is Friday night; he'll have plenty of recovery time before work on Monday." He kissed the top of her head, "We have to do something to get through that hard head of his."

She screwed up her face, "Have to get through that hair on his hard head first. He totally fried it! You know since I can't get him to a beauty shop, I'm going to have to just cut it all off to the dark roots and let it regrow!"

Peter laughed, "Well, do what you have to, he's your son!" He kissed her again and left.

El turned on the radio, and sat down at the table, trying to concentrate on the books she was working on. She could not stop the tears from falling, joyous ones for his return, and sad ones for what was going on upstairs right then.

***WC***

Peter was not any happier than El about what he had to do, but it had to be done so it could put behind them, so they could go forward. He entered Damon's room; he was sitting on the bed petting Satch.

"Satch, go downstairs." He commanded the dog and the obedient dog complied. _Wish kids were that easy,_ he thought. He closed the door. Damon saw what was in his hand and he jumped up, moving to the other side of the room, backside always kept facing away from Peter.

Peter placed the paddle on the night stand and sat down on the bed. "We need to talk Damon."

Damon indicated the paddle, "N… not with that thing, we don't."

Peter tried not to smile, remembering how many times when he was Damon's age he had tried the same line… He patted the bed beside him, "Come sit down, Damon."

"N… no Sir, I can hear you just fine right here."

No sense in getting in a confrontation over that, "Then stand in front of me so we can talk face to face, I don't want to have to turn my head sideways to talk to you."

Damon slowly sidestepped to the wall in front of Peter, keeping his backside close to the protective surface. He was more comfortable there anyway, the door was on the same wall, just a couple feet away, maybe he could get out before Agent Burke caught him, maybe Mrs. Burke would protect him…

When he was in place, Peter addressed him again, "Damon, we need to talk about your activities of the last six months."

Damon thought they had already addressed those issues! "Wh… what activities?"

"Stealing, lying, cheating, and whatever else you've done."

"But w… we already talked about all that! All day! That's why I'm wearing this damn thing!" He kicked the anklet against the wall and then immediately remembered how much that hurt, "F**K!"

Peter added, "and swearing…"

Then Damon remembered; he had it! He could stop Agent Burke in his tracks! "You can't! I'm already being punished. You can't do that," he indicated the paddle, "that would be double jeopardy!" He almost looked smug.

Peter again fought the grin, _not a bad try!_ "No Damon. That," he indicated the anklet, "and the rest of your probation is for the felonies you committed. I am talking about the countless misdemeanors you committed." Peter watched the wind fall out of Damon's sails.

"I… I didn't…"

"Damon, don't add more to your crimes." Peter was firm.

"B… but I had to survive…"

"No Damon. The first time you were on your own, you really had no choice. This time you had a choice. You were not in danger, and we had no intentions of sending you away. Even if I did plan on sending you to CPS, which I didn't, I would have made sure you were placed in a decent home. No Damon, it was not about survival."

Damon was getting worried, Peter was not backing down, "But I'm not a kid!"

"How do you figure that, Damon?"

"I… I supported me and Jake. I was head of household. I had to go to work to make the money to pay rent. I had to put groceries on the table. I was the adult!"

Peter sadly shook his head, "Lifting wallets is not a job Damon, it's a crime. Shoplifting groceries is not providing, it is stealing. And although you did do a good job taking care of Jake, it was for selfish reasons."

"Selfish!" Did Agent Burke have any idea all he had to do for Jake? He was like a kid; he had to take care of him!

"Yes Damon, selfish. You only took him in so you could live the life you choose. You needed an adult you could control. Jake was just another part of your plans."

Damn, did Agent Burke have to put it so bluntly? He did care about Jake! Didn't he? He inched a little closer to the door.

"Damon, I think it's time you come over here." Peter sounded calm.

Damon was not calm, "I… I don't think so…" He inched closer to the door.

Peter sighed, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but it's going to happen. Your choice."

_There was an easy way?_ "I choose you do not use that!" He indicated the paddle, it was worth a try.

Peter was still calm, "Okay, I won't. Come sit down."

Damon couldn't believe what he just thought he heard. "Y… you won't?"

"No Damon, I won't." He patted the bed beside him.

Damon knew Agent Burke would never lie, he wasn't sure if he knew how to lie, so he carefully sat on the bed beside him hoping that would appease him and he wouldn't use the paddle.

Peter put his arm around him, "One thing you do need to remember Damon, is that you are a child, and when you break the rules, you will be disciplined as a child." He started to pull Damon over his lap…

Damon struggled, "You said you wouldn't use the paddle!"

Peter had no trouble holding the child in place, "I don't need a paddle; I have a hand…"

The first smack brought the usual word, "F**K!"

"Damon, cussing will only add to your punishment." He continued rising and lowering his hand, he didn't need a paddle to get his message through the thin pajamas.

Damon grabbed at the bedspread, managing to get enough to get a good bite to stop the words from escaping his mouth, but as all fire and brimstone rained down on his backside, he said every cuss word known to man, and maybe a few new ones, in his head….

After an eternity, well it seemed like one to Damon; Peter stopped and pulled the sobbing child to him. "No more stealing, lying and whatever other crimes you have committed, Okay Damon?"

Damon tried half-heartedly to push away, but as soon as he realized Peter wasn't going to let him go, he gave into the need to be held and comforted. "Y… yes… S… Sir…"

Peter held him while he calmed down and then gently put him to bed and gave him a goodnight kiss on his forehead, "I love you, Damon."

Damon buried his head into the pillow when he heard those words, the tears renewed themselves…

Peter went downstairs where El was anxiously waiting, "Is he Okay?"

Peter tried to laugh, "Of course Hon, I didn't kill the boy!"

She hugged him, "Are you okay?"

Again, Peter tried to lighten the situation, "Well, I didn't realize how much my hand would sting afterwards!" He shook his sore hand.

She gave up, "I'm going to go say goodnight to him." She took off up the stairs, went to his room, and sat on the bed beside the boy; he was curled up with his back to her,

"Are you alright Damon?"

Damon hid his face, trying to hide the signs of crying from her, "Y… yes Ma'am."

"You know Peter only did that because we love you and want the best for you."

Damon groaned, there was that word again, he buried his face deeper.

She ran her fingers through his hair, his frizzy hair, "You know we want to adopt you."

Damon did not understand, "W… why?"

She tossed the damaged hair on his head, "Why do you think, you silly boy? Because we love you!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**Warning**: ** Discipline of a juvenile delinquent is used. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional show.

**DAMON III** **(8)**

Damon woke up during the witching hours as was his habit. He was disoriented but as he sat up, his backside reminded him before his surroundings as to where he was. But he still felt like he was in a dream, _this could not be true_. This is where his heart wanted to be for so long but could not believe he was here.

He got up and went to the window and felt the call of the night, the call of the city, the call of freedom….

He turned around and looked back at Satchmo, not believing what he saw, he walked over to the bed to touch, pet, feel the golden hair of the dog. _No, this cannot be_. He closed his eyes willing reality to come back. When he opened them, Satch was still there, still enjoying his touch.

He needed to explore the house, to wander it and see if it was real. He brought up the needed files from his memory, every lose board, every creak, and after giving Satchmo the silent hand signal for 'stay' he worked his way carefully downstairs….

Damon quietly crept down to the living room, touched the books, touched the furniture, trying to will himself into believing that he was there; it was not an easy feat for a doubtful soul like himself.

He eventually worked his way into the basement. It was the same. It was not real. Nothing had been touched. Even the power tools lay as he had last seen them. It seemed so unreal.

Out of fear, frustration, demand, he started hitting the punching bag, trying to force reality back into existence… It finally burned the last of his energy; he lay on the basement couch to sleep…

***WC***

Peter and El could not sleep late, it had been a long day for Peter, but Damon was home, he was on a natural high. El went downstairs to start a good nourishing breakfast for their prodigal son. Peter waited as long as he could and then rushed upstairs to wake the boy. He opened the door and Satchmo rushed past him, he moved inside and Damon was nowhere to be found….

"Damon!" He started searching, calling, knowing the alarms had not been set off, fearful, he followed the dog downstairs, still calling, his fears unquenched.

Satchmo scratched on the basement door, Peter opened it and headed down, blocking the dog, from following, sweat forming, "Damon…!" he called again as he descended…

***WC***

Damon was gone. He was drifting. It was dark. He was lost. Agent Burke was calling his name from somewhere deep in a tunnel, he tried to move toward the sound, but he could not see him, he tried to move away from the sound, but could not orient in the blackness…. He was sinking further and further away… The fear of being lost was overwhelming… comforting… stifling… calming… he could not breathe… could not stay… could not…

***WC***

"DAMON!"

***WC***

Damon woke up with a start. He saw Agent Burke rushing toward him, "I…. you…. it…." His brain could not understand the input.

Peter first urge was to shake the boy for ignoring him, but he saw the lost look, the confusion in his eyes, "Damon. Are you alright?"

Damon looked around him, trying to position, trying to understand….

Peter sat beside him, held him, and secured him, "It's okay Damon, you're home."

Damon tried to anchor, tried to orient, and tried to remember the trust…. He closed his eyes….

***WC***

"Boys! Breakfast is ready!" El called, bringing reality back into focus.

"Let's go Damon! You know how mad she'll get if it gets cold!" Peter urged Damon to his feet.

"Yes Sir." He stood, still a little shaky, a little disoriented, unsure why he was there. _Trust Agent Burke._ They headed upstairs to breakfast.

***WC***

Damon didn't have to be pushed to eat all his breakfast that morning; he ate as quickly as possible and jumped up to help clear the table and clean up in the kitchen. He had realized quickly there wasn't much padding on the dining room chairs after his 'talk' with Agent Burke the night before and didn't want to sit in it any longer than he had to.

After he and El were done in the kitchen, Peter called him,

"Damon, come here, we need to talk."

Peter could see the panic in Damon's eyes as he went pale and looked around for the paddle. He tried not to laugh, "No Damon, we took care of that last night, remember? I just want to talk. Sit down." He pulled out the chair next to him and turned it so they could face each other without a table in between.

Damon didn't want to sit in that chair, he looked longingly at the couch with its soft comfortable cushions, "Can't we talk in there?" He indicated the living room with his head.

"No Damon, I think it would be better if you remember last night's lesson as we talk." He indicated the chair again. "Sit down."

Damon moaned and gingerly sat down.

Peter settled into interrogation mode, "Damon, I am going to ask you some questions. I want the truth. No lying, no holding back, no dodging around and manipulating the truth. You have already been punished for your indiscretions, so there is no sense in not being totally open with me; however it I find out later that you held anything back, then that will be considered a new offense and subject to correction. Am I making myself clear, Damon?"

Damon didn't like where this was going, "Yes Sir."

"When I searched your hotel room…."

"You searched my room!" Damon was upset; he hadn't wanted Agent Burke to see how he had lived.

Peter frowned at him, "Yes Damon, we did. You were the prime suspect in seven felonies." He let that sink in, and then went on, "When we searched your room, I found the, ah, suit…" He remembered the last time; except for the brief morning visit; he had seen Damon before he disappeared. He had been trying to kick Adler to death, and wasn't sure how Damon would react to the memory.

Damon didn't seemed fazed, "You mean the Adler suit?"

Peter sighed; he had expected some kind of reaction, not indifference, "Yes Damon, the Adler suit. I was surprised that you would even take it with you, and when we found it, well, it had signs of having been worn several times. I want to know where and why you wore it."

Damon squirmed on his seat a little, "I, ah, wore it to the theater and stuff."

"Can you expand on that a little?"

"You know, fancy places, like the ballet, concerts, and musicals."

"Why?"

"To see the shows…."

"Damon, what did I tell you earlier about holding back?"

Damon squirmed a little more, "I did enjoy the shows. But I also…" He was starting to feel the pain in his bottom more, "worked, ah…, took, ah…"

"Damon, call it what it is." Peter was firm.

"Stealing! I stole money while I was there…" He looked like he was having trouble getting a comfortable position.

Peter noticed Damon's discomfiture, and knew part of it was caused by the mental suggestion.

"And I assume you snuck in by letting them believe you were twelve and accompanied by an adult?"

"Yes…"

"That's lying, Damon."

He handed Damon pen and paper, "Okay, write down every place you wore the suit to so you could steal."

Damon grimaced, but did as instructed.

"Now, where else did you go to steal money? Write them down also."

After Damon finished his list, Peter continued, "All of these places will be included in your out of bounds list along with the others Hughes already mentioned. Can you think of anyplace else?"

Damon could not believe where this had led, no place of any interest was left to him and he got sarcastic, "Do you want me to list the grocery stores too?"

Peter cocked an eyebrow, "Do we need to?"

Damon slumped, outwardly defeated, inwardly seething.

Peter picked up the list, folded it, and put it in his pocket for safekeeping. "Now, I have some other issues to address with you."

Damon looked like he was really getting uncomfortable.

"The way you disappeared so quickly indicated you had money when you left here. Where did it come from?"

"I, ah… saved it…"

"Saved it from what?" Peter was starting to feel like he was pulling teeth.

"Money I, ah… earned…"

"Damon. Earned from where?"

"Is this still covered under last night's, you know?"

"Spanking? Yes Damon, talk."

Damon tried to take some pressure off his buttocks by putting his hands on the chair and raising his weight, "The tables mostly…."

"Sit!" Damon dropped back down with a groan. "Before or after you were forbidden to play them?"

"Both…"

"You said mostly, so where did the rest come from. Did you steal it?"

"No! The only time I stole while I lived here was the five wallets!"

Peter shook his head, the boy couldn't steal while he lived with them, but he had no trouble when he was on his own. Then he remembered an old question, "Why did you really steal that first wallet, Damon? It wasn't really on impulse, was it?"

Damon tried to find a comfortable position, "No Sir. I… I did it for the money." He looked up, "But I did feel bad and returned it."

"So you got none of the money from stealing?"

"No Sir."

"Then where did the rest come from, Damon?"

"I saved my lunch money…"

"Exactly how long have you been saving and planning your getaway?"

"About a year I guess…" Damon was really squirming now.

Peter sat awhile and studied the boy. "So for a year you were deceiving El and I about eating lunch. You deceived us by sneaking around and playing the tables. And you purposely disobeyed my order not to play the tables any more. Is that correct Damon?"

Damon was really uncomfortable with the whole situation, "I guess… maybe…" Peter raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I guess I did, when you put it like that."

"What else have you deceived us on Damon?"

"Nothing!" He couldn't think, Agent Burke was confusing him and the pain was intensifying….

Peter gave a long heavy sigh, "You know it's going to take a while for you to regain my trust."

He sat and contemplated awhile. "I guess a lot of it's my fault. You came to us so independent and I had absolutely no experience with raising children, so I let you have way too much freedom. Well, that's all going to change."

Damon looked up, "It's already changed! I'm a prisoner here! I have no freedom!"

"You committed nine major felonies. Yes you are a prisoner, but I'm talking about after you get released from house arrest." He hesitated a minute. "Anything else you need to tell me while you're still covered under last night's umbrella?"

Damon shook his head. "Go get dressed Damon."

Damon jumped off the chair and rushed upstairs. But he didn't get dressed, he went to the closet, nothing had been changed in there, his layer of protective clothing still hung against the outside wall. He started punching the wall.

***WC***

About an hour later, Damon still had not returned downstairs, so Peter went to check on him. He found him curled up in bed on top of the covers, sound asleep, still in his pajamas. He noticed the bruised knuckles. He exhaled soundlessly. The boy was going to take a lot of work to get him back on track, if he ever was on track since his mother's death. But Peter considered him his son now in all but name, his responsibility, and he believed he was worth the investment to save.

Peter slapped the boy's rump to wake him, not as hard as a spank, but not a love pat, just the right amount to reawaken the tender nerve endings.

The boy jumped up, "Owww!" and rubbed his backside. "What was that for?"

Peter frowned at him, "You are not going to sleep during the day so you can stay up at night. It's time to change your habits back to normal Damon. Get dressed."

Damon waited for him to leave, but Peter just stood there, "I'm not going to change in front of you!"

"Alright Damon, but you have ten minutes to get downstairs. If I have to come back up here, it won't be a love pat on your rump." He grinned and left.

Damon was downstairs in less than ten minutes.

***WC***

Peter decided Damon would have to be kept busy; one reason was to keep him awake and tire him out so he would sleep at night, but the other was to keep his mind occupied, to give it something to focus on.

So when Damon arrived downstairs, Peter informed him they would work at finishing putting up the drywall in the basement. Both of them noticed quickly that they missed Neal's company during the project. He might not have been the best helper for the manual labor, but he was the one that had kept them constantly entertained while they worked.

Peter and Damon really had nothing to chat about; Peter couldn't talk FBI cases to Damon, and Damon didn't want to tell Peter little anecdotes about his life of crime. So conversation was minimized to work related only; _hand me that hammer, hold this right here, here take the screwdriver._ But Damon did not shirk from the work; he seemed content while he toiled.

***WC***

Damon again woke when he heard the call of the night. He went to the window and stood, remembering the freedom of the rooftops, the cover of the dark, a world where he was in charge. He soundlessly slipped down to the basement and used the punching bag to ease the pull of the night until he could go back to sleep on the couch.

***WC***

The next morning after breakfast, El called Damon to her, "Come on Damon and sit down so I can cut your hair."

Damon did not want his hair cut, he knew she would cut it short, "Why Ma'am, what's wrong with it the way it is?"

El smiled her beautiful smile, "Honey, you know you ruined it. We have to cut off the damaged hair so the healthy hair can grow."

Damon pleaded, "Why can't we just wait for the roots to grow longer first? I don't want short hair!"

Peter decided it was time to speak up. "Damon, listen to your mother."

Damon almost retorted, almost said what he knew would hurt El's feelings, but caught himself in time. They would wake up soon enough and realize they didn't really want to adopt him. He sulked as he went to the indicated chair to sit down.

El explained as she got him situated, "It will grow back faster if we cut it now and then when you get off house arrest it should be long enough to go to a saloon and have it styled. Besides, you just don't look right in blond hair Damon. Don't ever do that again! You have such beautiful natural hair! Now, sit still and don't move."

"It's hard to sit still, Agent Burke…"

She chided him before he could finish, "Your father only gave you what you earned, you should have known better. Now sit still."

Damon wanted to weep as he watched clump after clump of golden locks fall to the floor.

El kept up her constant stream of small talk as she worked, when she finished, she sent Damon upstairs to shower off the lose hair and change. When he got out of the shower and looked in the mirror, he wanted to find a hole to hide in. He had only about an inch of hair left. He went and found a ball cap to put on to cover his all but bald head.

***WC***

The rest of the day was spent finishing putting up the drywall, and then Peter started instructing Damon how to finish it. He taught him how to spread the joint compound, how to bed the drywall tape, and then to feather out the compound to an imperceptible edge. Damon had the patience when doing detail work and the eye of an artist for perfection. Peter thought it would be a good job that Damon could do by himself when he wanted to, to prevent him from getting overly bored during his house arrest. He had him start in the storage room area so any newbie imperfections could be covered by storage boxes.

Damon was also informed that homeschooling would commence again in the evenings on weeknights. Peter was determined to enroll him in some kind of school in the fall; he did not want him running the streets anymore.

***WC***

For the third night in a row, Damon stood and looked out the window of his bedroom. The call was not getting weaker, it was increasing in strength. It had been almost a week since his last heist, he needed his fix; he needed to feel alive again. He placed his forehead on the window trying to cool the heat that burned within.

He opened the night stand drawer and saw his sketch pad and pencils were still there. He sat and sketched the layout and the plans for Tiffany's on 5th Ave. It was his next scheduled hit. He liked the feel of jewelry the best when he relived his robberies, he liked the way it ran through his fingers… When he finished the sketch he traced the plan with his fingertip from point of entry to exit trying to feel the thrill of anticipation. He used to be able to get just a little rush from doing this in expectation, but it wasn't working now, there was no anticipation, he was not allowed to carry through. He angrily tore the sketch up and ran it through the shredder.

He sat for a while, head in hands, trying to still the need, trying to fight the call. He again went to the basement and vented his frustrations out on the punching bag until he could finally go back to sleep.

***WC***

##### Sorry this took so long! Feedback appreciated! #####


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**WARNING**: ** Discipline of a juvenile delinquent is used. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional show.

**DAMON III** **(9)**

For Damon, the weekend drug on forever, but Monday morning came at him like a freight train. It meant he had to go to work with Agent Burke; he had to face Agent Hughes again. He trembled at the thought of standing before the senior agent.

Peter informed him on the way into work that his first duty was to report to Hughes. While they were at the offices Hughes was his primary handler and Peter was just a hair above the other three disciplinary agents.

Peter gave him instructions, "When you arrive, stand outside Hughes door, knock once and wait for permission to enter. When he tells you to enter go stand in the exact spot you stood the last time you were there. Just do what he tells you and you will be fine." Peter gave him a squeeze on his shoulder to reassure him.

Damon tried hard to control the shaking as he waited outside Hughes door, he swore Hughes was purposely making him wait longer than necessary, but he waited. When given permission to enter, he went to the spot Peter told him to stand in. He was wearing a ball cap to hide his one inch length hair.

Hughes sat back, watching him. "Boy, there are certain rules you will adhere to when you enter my office." He paused,

"Number one, you will not wear a hat in my office."

Damon still stood still…

"Take your hat off!"

Damon had forgotten he was wearing the cap and jerked it off his head quickly, exposing unruly hair that was never designed to be worn short.

"Number two, you will look at me."

Damon swallowed hard and then lifted his head to look at the stern agent.

"Number three, you will address me properly."

Damon hesitated, _what did he want?_ Then, "Y… yes Sir."

"Better. I will not repeat these rules again. You will adhere to them and every morning you will report to me first thing. Now, you will write a report on your first, what do we call it, escapade? And bring it here to my desk. Any problem with that?"

Damon's voice was so small, "No Sir." He turned to leave to fulfill his assignment.

"BOY!"

Damon froze.

"You have not been dismissed!"

He returned to his proper position, "S… sorry Sir."

"I have set up a desk in the bullpen for you to work at. You will not talk to Caffrey! Is that understood?"

Damon had to fight to keep his head up, "Yes Sir."

"Dismissed! Get to work."

Damon fought the urge to run as he left the office.

***WC***

He found his 'desk', a small table sideways to the wall; the chair was facing Peter's office, his back to Neal and surrounded by agents. He was at the far back edge of the window, but at least when he rose up, he could look out it. The table was scarcely big enough to put a chair under it, writing paper on top; no computer or word processor.

He sat down and started writing his first report.

***WC***

Peter called a meeting of his three agents with disciplinary powers. He had considered Hughes unexpected mandate over the weekend and wanted to discuss Damon's situation with them. He knew they would be hesitant if given orders to discipline Damon if they thought it would offend Peter and he did not want them torn between loyalties.

He explained how he thought it would actually be in the best interests of Damon to have this extended family to watch over him. He had no problems with deserved corrections. He went on to explain that it would free him up to leave the office for field duty. At least one of them would remain in the office at all times when Damon was there.

Since they would all share in Damon's rehabilitation, he wanted them to understand some of the basic psychology behind some of the probation restrictions. Damon is an adrenaline junkie. He spent six months changing his lifestyle and habits to find newer and more exciting ways to feed his craving. First step was to change his habits back to a more normal lifestyle that did not feed the need. A basic premise to start; because all humans are not alike, and all habits are not alike, it is just a base point to begin; it is the 30, 90, 365 rule.

In thirty days you can establish a new habit, it doesn't require a lot of willpower to continue your change, but problems might easily offset it, like the need for a rush.

At ninety days any change should be neutral where running the habit is no more difficult than not running it. Peter also had heard that it takes three months to break a pattern. So they had three months of work/house arrest to basically get Damon's mind and habits back on the straight and narrow, not where he would be fully trusted, but with continued supervision, he could reestablish a more normal life.

But it takes one year to make the new habits a true way of life. Of course a therapist would have to address the emotional side of the addiction.

All four agents joined forces in the best interests of the child.

***WC***

Damon finished his first report in less than an hour, but was reluctant to return to Hughes office, so he messed around, pretending he was writing, or spending time hiding in the restroom. He tried to hide behind file cabinets, out of sight of the agents to get Neal's attention, but Neal wouldn't look at him.

Finally, Hughes left his office for lunch and Damon rushed up to place the report on his desk while he was gone.

***WC***

"BOY!" Hughes voice might not be that loud to the agents, but to Damon it sounded like a clap of thunder. He jumped. "Y… yes Sir?"

Hughes gave him the two finger point and Damon knew what that meant, he ran up the steps and hurried to his office. He stood outside the door waiting. He was not sure if he should knock and not sure if he should enter.

"Get in here boy!"

Damon moved to his assigned spot and in the nick of time remembered his hat and hastily took it off, "Yes Sir?" He met Hughes eyes and saw he was upset.

"You entered my office without permission?" Hughes asked, knowing the answer.

Damon fumbled his words, "I… ah… the report… ah…"

Hughes growled, "Spit it out boy."

Damon took a deep breath, "I… delivered the report like you said."

"Rule number four. You will NOT enter my office without permission! You will NOT enter my office unless I am here! Is that understood boy?"

Damon hung his head, "Yes Sir."

"Look at me!"

Damon lifted his head back up, "Y… yes Sir."

"You will hand deliver your reports. That means from your hand to my hand. Is that understood?"

Damon swallowed, "Yes Sir."

Damon waited while Hughes read the report and then threw it on his desk in front of Damon. "I can read this out of the newspaper. What part of a thorough report don't you understand, boy?"

"I… I…"

"I want everything. I want to know why you selected this target, how you cased it, how you did it, and how you got away. Is that understood?"

Damon swallowed; _how I selected it_? "Y… yes Sir…" He waited, too scared to move without permission.

"Get out of here and do it right!"

Again, Damon did his best not to visibly run.

***WC***

Jones had noticed Damon's bruised knuckles and went to discuss them with Peter. "Peter, I take it Damon has anger issues?"

Peter grunted, "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Well I just ask because I have a punching bag stored in my closet I don't use anymore. It might save some wear and tear on his hands. You are welcome to it."

"I have one in the basement he uses." Peter thought a second, "You know it might be a good idea to have one in his room also. That's where he does the damage. Are you sure Jones?"

Jones laughed, "I don't need it anymore, I've got my anger under control. I'll bring it over tonight, if that's alright with you."

"That'd be great Jones. I'll tell El to expect you for dinner."

***WC***

Damon was only half finished rewriting his report when the sand man caught up to him. Peter had made him stay up all day every day, and the night's power had cut into his sleep time. He laid his head on his table and dozed off. Agent Blake woke him up,

"Hey kid, I wouldn't do that. I don't think Agent Hughes would be too happy to see you sleeping." Blake was a probie and Hughes still scared the heck out of him.

Damon got up to go get some coffee to help keep him awake.

Diana walked into the break area and frowned at him, "Damon, are you allowed to drink coffee?"

"I drink it all the time." He did when he lived on his own.

"You didn't answer my question, Damon." Diana knew a Caffrey deflection when she heard one.

El had caught him trying to drink a cup and told him no, he avoided Diana's eyes.

"You just answered my question. Pour it out. And Damon, remember I have authority to correct you if you try to pull something over on me again."

Damon poured the coffee out, "Yes Ma'am." He was not happy with the direction his life had taken.

***WC***

He finished his report before the end of the day but decided since he had to report to Hughes first thing in the morning anyway, he would save it until then.

Finally Peter came to collect him to go home and he felt a wave of relief as he left the offices.

When they got home Damon changed and went downstairs to work on the basement, Peter checked on him about thirty minutes later and found him half asleep on the couch.

"Get up Damon, what did I tell you about sleeping in the daytime?"

Damon mumbled and rolled over exposing his backend to Peter. Peter thought _'well if you insist'_ and gave him a sharp whack on the rump.

"Owwww!" Damon jumped up and gave Peter the evil eye.

"No sleeping in the daytime buddy. Get to work, watch TV, or read a book, I don't care, as long as it keeps you awake."

Damon chose to stay in the basement, so Peter decided to take his case files down to there to work on so he could keep an eye on the boy and make the couch unavailable.

Jones showed up before dinner with the punching bag he had promised. It was the freestanding kick/punching bag design similar to the one in the basement. While the men manhandled it upstairs, Damon set the table and helped El where he could.

After dinner the two men went into the living room to discuss cases and whatever, Damon had to do his homeschool assignments. While Damon was gone, Peter had kept creating math homework assignments for Damon, he wasn't sure why, maybe by doing so he could keep the conviction going that someday Damon would come home. He was thankful now; he had weeks' worth of pre-planned homework for him. El had gone to the library and secured her selected coursework for him as well.

Damon was not happy with his situation. He was sleepy and he was tired of being told what to do. He wanted to sit on a rooftop and watch the world go by below him, king and master of all he saw.

***WC***

Damon again woke to the song of the night siren. No matter how tired he was, she could always lure him with her tune. As he rested his forehead on the window he thought of Neal; Neal would know, Neal would understand. He needed to talk to Neal, to make sense of this, to understand the call. He snuck downstairs to the phone. Peter had refused to give him his cell phone back so he went to the house phone and dialed Neal's number….

Of course, Neal had caller ID, "Peter, do you know what time it is? What's wrong? Is Damon alright?"

Finally Damon spoke, "Neal? It's me."

"Damon! You know you're not supposed to talk to me. What are you thinking?"

Damon pleaded, "I just wanted to talk to you. I don't understand why I'm not allowed to. I need to talk to you Neal."

"No Damon, it's not the best thing for you. Trust me. Trust Peter. I'm going to hang up now, not because I want to, but because it's what has to be. Trust Peter Damon." With that, the phone went dead.

"Neal? Neal?" Damon stared at the dead phone. He waited awhile and then reached to redial Neal's number

Neal hung up with Damon. Neal hated being responsible. He spent all his life making sure he was responsible for no one but himself, and that was sometimes questionable. Why didn't he just take the kid with him and Moz? The kid would love it on some tropical island chilling in the sun. He heaved a sigh and called Peter.

Peter came down the stairs after Neal had called him and removed the phone from Damon's hand. "No, Damon."

Damon was angry and shouted, "Why not? Why can't I talk to Neal?"

"What do you want to talk to him about?"

"About… about…"

"What Damon?" Damon couldn't answer, Agent Burke wouldn't understand.

"You want to talk about your robberies with him? About how it felt?"

Damon licked his lips, how did he know?

"Do you want to relive them Damon with someone who understands how it felt? Do you want to re-experience the thrill of it?" Peter could see the tension in Damon's body.

"YES!" Damon was starting to tremble, "YES!"

Peter walked up to Damon and put his free arm around him, "That is why you can't talk to him for now, Damon." He started to guide him back toward the staircase, "Now go back to bed. You need to get some sleep." Peter watched him leave; he knew he would try soon, probably tomorrow or the next night at the latest. He took the phone with him to his room.

Damon went back to his room, but he did not go straight to bed. He had a bag in his room now so he could beat on it to wear himself out so he could sleep.

***WC***

The next morning Damon reluctantly took his report up to Hughes office, he knocked once and waited quietly outside the door with his hat off, he didn't want to give Hughes any reason to yell at him.

"Get in here boy."

Damon went to his spot and handed Hughes the report, "Here's my report, Sir."

Hughes eyed him, "Why didn't you turn this in yesterday?"

"I… I just finished it when it was time to go."

Hughes didn't believe he had 'just' finished it, "Boy, rule number five, you will deliver reports to me as soon as they are completed. Understood?"

_Damn I can't do anything right in his eyes_, "Y… yes Sir."

Hughes took the report and read it. He tossed it back at Damon. "A little better, but still not what I asked for. Everything in here I can get from an FBI file or the gallery's blueprints. I want what no one but you knows, boy. I want what was going on in YOUR head when you did this. Every thought since you first heard of the Belenky Brothers to when you put the necklace in storage. Am I making myself clear, boy?"

Damon did not want to give that much information, _where he first heard of them_? He tried to think how he could get around some details...

"Boy! Is that clear?"

Damon jumped, "Y… yes Sir."

"Get out of here."

***WC***

Damon was tense, he was tired, and he felt like he was on the edge, so he headed to the men's room to hit the stall doors a few times to help calm down. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. He sat down on the floor in the far corner of the restroom until an agent came in and sent him back to his table. He tried to write the report several times, several times he tore up what he had and threw it away. He had read an FBI file, that's how he knew about the Belenky Brothers. He was afraid of what Hughes would do if he found out he had been reading files.

Peter saw the boy's tension on the ride home. He tried to talk to him, but Damon was withdrawn. Peter believed he would try that night.

Again, Damon chose to work in the basement and again, Peter took his files to down there to work on them to insure Damon stayed awake. Damon tried to concentrate on the finishing work and later his homework, but his mind was in turmoil, he needed a fix.

***WC***

That night when the call came, Damon was ready to answer it. It had been over a week since his last heist and he needed a high, he needed to feel alive; he needed to fulfill his need.

He didn't have his lock picking tools anymore, of course they were confiscated, but he had learned a lot about locks and electronic security. Since the locking mechanism of his anklet was facing away from him, he got a hand held mirror to study it. He sat on the floor and set the mirror to reflect the ceiling light to the anklet lock, it looked like a pretty basic setup. He got some improvised tools and started to work on the lock.

***WC***

##### 'Till the next chapter #####


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her and Colakirk's encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**WARINING**: ** Corporal punishment is used in this chapter. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional show.

**DAMON III** **(10)**

Damon didn't have to work on the anklet lock very long before the light switched from green to red and an irritating 'beep, beep, beep' alarm started emanating from it. Damon started frantically trying to open the tracker so he could get it off and run.

No such luck, Peter entered the room; he was talking on the phone, "No, I got him, he's right here. Going to switch them now, hold on." He sat down beside Damon, set the phone down and reached for Damon's leg. Damon was too scared to resist, he knew he was going to jail. Peter swiftly unlocked the compromised anklet, removed it and snapped a second one on in its place and observed the new anklet's light switch to green. He picked the phone back up.

"Anklet one has been removed, number two is now securely in place and activated." He listened for a minute, "Okay, thanks, I've got it now, 'bye." He put the phone in his pocket and turned to Damon.

"That was a one shot deal, Damon." He explained as he pointed to the anklet. "I was able to convince Hughes that with your abilities and your immaturity you wouldn't be able to resist testing the tracker one time. But now you know you cannot beat it so don't try it again; I won't be able to protect you next time. And just for your information, I do not have a key to the new anklet, so don't even think about trying to go through my stuff to find it."

Damon was on the verge of crying, "Y… you're not gonna send me to j… jail?"

"No, but there are consequences for your actions." Peter studied Damon's reaction.

Damon tried to pull his leg away, but Peter held on, "W… what do you mean?"

Peter tilted his head, "What do you think I mean, Damon? You know the rules and you tried to break them."

"But I didn't actually break any rules! I was never told I couldn't try to take it off…." He knew this was grasping at straws, but he also knew where Peter was heading, and he did not want to go there.

Peter just shook his head, "You want to dig yourself in any deeper?"

"But I don't want…"

"Well, I don't want to lose you again, not by running away or by being sent to juvenile detention. Guess whose wants supersedes the other?"

Damon tried to fight the tears, "Do you have to?"

"You have a choice, Damon." Damon groaned at that, he didn't like the choices Agent Burke usually gave him. "Either I can take care of it here tonight, or we can let Hughes handle it tomorrow. But I'm warning you, Hughes expects you to be disciplined."

No, Damon did not like his choices. "Can't we just tell him you did?"

Peter looked shocked, "After all I've tried to teach you about lying and now you want me to lie? No Damon."

Damon was still desperate to find an equitable solution, "Then maybe you don't have to do it so hard…"

Peter couldn't help but give a small laugh, "No Damon, you know it doesn't work that way." He studied him a couple seconds, "What's your choice Damon, now or at work tomorrow?"

Damon did not want to answer, silence gave him more time, forestalled the inevitable.

"Damon?"

He sighed, "Now."

With that, Peter removed Damon's leg from his lap and stood up, holding his hand out to help Damon to his feet and guided him over to the bed. He sat down and pulled the boy to him and paused with Damon still standing and facing him. Damon saw the paddle lying on the bed and started to pull back but Peter took his face in his hands, "Son, I love you and I want the best for you. You need to learn to live by the rules. You need to learn self-control. If I have to beat it into your hard head through your backside, I will do it to make sure you learn." He gently wiped the tears from Damon's face with his thumbs. "Are you ready?"

Damon could not believe he was allowing this, it was not his way, he should be fighting, running, something, but the alternative was Hughes and he closed his eyes and nodded in affirmation.

Peter gently pulled the child into position, holding him in place with his left hand. Damon wrapped his hands around the back of his head like he was ducking from an impending blast and held his face tight to the bed to muffle any noise or words he may utter. The blast did land on his derriere twelve times plus another two for words he did not quite get muffled.

When he was finished Peter tried to hold Damon close and Damon tried to push him away. "Th… that h… hurt!"

"Damon, when are you going to realize I'm not going to let you go?" He pulled the boy close and held him until his weeping subsided and then put him to bed again repeating those three words that Damon could not believe.

The call of the night had been silenced by the pain radiating from his backside and he fell asleep.

***WC***

The next morning, Damon refused to sit to eat breakfast. El, as usual, fussed over him, and insisted he had to eat. Peter assured El that he would probably be sitting at his desk, err table, all day so a compromise was made and they let him stand to eat.

When it was time to go, Damon shot Peter a dirty look before he carefully sat down in the passenger seat.

When they got to the office, Peter told Damon to wait while he went to talk to Hughes.

"But he'll be mad at me." Damon did not want to cross Hughes.

Peter gave Damon's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "I'm going there right now. You'll be alright."

While Peter headed up to Hughes office Damon glanced around. It seemed like all the agents were looking at him, and then avoiding his eyes. _Do they all know? Damn! The tracker!_ He wandered to the break area trying to avoid eye contact.

When Peter came out of Hughes office, he pointed at Damon and then at Hughes office. _Report now._

Damon reluctantly headed up the stairs to report in. He took off his hat, knocked once and waited.

"Get in here."

Damon moved somewhat gingerly to his assigned spot. "Yes Sir?"

Hughes sat back in his chair, head resting on his fingers, "I understand you broke your rules of probation last night."

Damon swallowed hard at the way Hughes worded it… "I… I…"

"How many licks did Burke give you?"

"Four… fourteen…"

Hughes lifted his head off his hand and looked hard at Damon.

"F… fourteen Sir."

Hughes rested his head back on his hand.

"I understand two of those were for cussing. So isn't the true answer twelve?"

Damon dropped his head, "Y… yes Sir…"

"Look at me!"

Damon lifted his head back up.

"Burke is too easy on you. If it was up to me, I would have given you at least fifteen if not twenty licks." He glared at Damon and let that sink in. Damon shifted uncomfortably and unconsciously rubbed his hind end.

"But Burke is one of the best agents I have ever had and I am willing to deal with some of his idiosyncrasies." He watched Damon while he reflexively scratched his ear. "You know I don't even think you should be on probation. I think you should be locked up." He again hesitated as he observed the boy. Damon just stood there obediently.

"You have bad blood, boy. There is no fixing bad blood."

"I know Sir." Damon stated it simply, honestly, and from the heart.

For the first time they truly looked at each other. Damon was always made to look at Hughes, but this was the first time they looked into each other's eyes to the truth in them.

Damon finally understood why Hughes did not like him, and would never like him. He knew what Damon knew; he had bad blood, unfixable, unchangeable, a basic truth. Damon understood why he could never do anything right in Hughes eyes and he understood that he did not have to cover the truth in his reports. There was no way he could look worse, no matter what he wrote. He accepted this as a fact of life. Hughes was the only one who knew him for what he truly was, and he accepted that.

Hughes was not sure what he saw in the boy's eyes. It was not fear, not defiance, but a steady solid look of… acceptance? Understanding?

"Go write your report, boy." He did not sound harsh, but neither did he sound gentle. It was just a statement, no more and no less.

Damon did not have the urge to run as he calmly turned and left the office.

***WC***

While Damon was in Hughes office, Neal went to Peter's office. He did not knock nor did he wait for permission to enter; he invited himself in and went and sat down. "So, Damon tried to unlock his tracker last night?"

Peter sat back, "Yes, and he failed. Are you disappointed? Did you wish he would succeed and come and release you?" Peter was still a little on edge and did not have a problem taking it out on Neal.

Neal brushed a piece of invisible lint off his pant leg, "Of course not. What makes you think that?" _But it would have been pretty cool._

Peter rubbed his temples, "I'm sorry Neal, I don't mean to take it out on you. You warned me of what he was going to go through and I appreciate your honesty. How are you doing? Second thoughts?"

Neal pasted on his best 'I totally agree' smile, "Of course not, Peter. Why would I?"

But what Neal didn't understand is that the more Peter knew about Damon, the more he understood Neal. "No reason. Just asking."

***WC***

Damon returned to his table ready to write. He had trouble concentrating because he had trouble getting comfortable. He knew he had to open his mind and overcome the pain to be able to write what he had to. He searched his mind; his memory files for something to overcome the discomfort. Why he chose what he did, he did not know, but as he started repeating the Bene Gesserit's 'Litany Against Fear' from Frank Herbert's book 'Dune' in his head, he started dropping into the mindset that could write the proper report:

'I must not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

I will face my fear.

I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.

Only I will remain.'

He started writing….

***WC***

He did not notice that most of the office emptied out to go to the field for some investigation. He did not notice that only Jones was left behind to 'babysit' until he shook Damon's shoulder and told him it was time for lunch. He looked up, somewhat dazed, "Let me finish this part and then I'll eat."

Jones smiled at him, "Okay, but don't forget or it will be my ass."

Damon gave a half smile back; Jones was alright, "No problem." He went back to his report.

Before the end of the lunch break, agents were wandering back and Jones was getting updates on the status of the current case and Damon's lunch was forgotten.

Once Damon finished, he looked back over his report and saw several things he had missed. He wrote the inserts in the margin with arrows pointing to proper position and clarified the report. When he was content with a complete report, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and started writing from scratch. He did not have the luxury of a computer or even a word processor to mechanically insert the changes, once he knew what he wanted; he had to rewrite the whole thing neatly, just like Mrs. Burke had taught him.

He wrote about reading the file in a pile on Agent Burke's desk. How he analyzed the former thieves mistakes, how he cased the place to improve on the robbery. He did not explain how Neal told him about the hidden camera; he added the camera to his observations when he cased the premises. He included a sketch of the former thieves' mistakes and his improvements, taking full credit on himself; Neal was denied the credit he deserved. He told how he happened on the place that night, how he went in, how he took the necklace, how he took it home and the next day rented a storage unit to store it.

He included everything in his report except Neal's input and the feel of the thrill.

***WC***

Peter was tired. He had spent all day chasing false leads on his current case. Most of his agents and his CI had already gone home. He would probably have stayed longer, but he had Damon to contend with. He grabbed his files to work on at home and went to collect his wayward son. "Time to go Damon."

Damon looked up; a little surprised it was time to go. "Just a sec…." He wrote the last couple lines. "I just have to deliver this, Sir, and then I will be ready."

"You can turn it in in the morning. Let's go."

Damon almost looked shocked, "No Sir. I have to do it now. I'll be right back." He took off up the steps with his report before Peter could stop him.

Damon went up to Hughes office and followed proper procedure.

"Get in here."

Damon complied and handed Hughes his report, "My report Sir." There was no fear in Damon. He knew this man had total obliterating power over him, and he accepted it because the cause for his power Damon knew was right. He accepted it.

Hughes took the report. "I'll read this over tonight. Go home and report back in the morning."

"Yes Sir." Damon did not move.

"Go."

Damon left to join Peter and go home.

***WC***

That evening Diana and her significant other Christie showed up before dinner. Peter called Damon up from the basement where he had disappeared as usual. "Damon go sit on the couch. Christie wants to check your vitals."

True to Damon nature he was suspicious, "Why?"

Peter was tired and getting tired of being questioned about every order he gave. "Because I said so."

Damon saw he was irritated and did not want to push his buttons. He knew he had no choice. He went and sat down on the couch.

Damon was on the brink of a downward spiral. He didn't know that a part of him always thought he could beat the tracker, but reality hit him last night and he was dropping. He had lost all control of his life with no way to get it back. He had no control of his sleep time, his awake time, what he ate, when he ate, not even his hair was his to call his own. Now the masters of his life wanted to go inside him with a check-up. Why? To tell him when and where he could breathe? He knew Christie was a doctor, and he knew they wanted her to check him, for what, he did not know. The thought actually flashed through his mind that he would rather be in Hughes office, someone who understood him for exactly who and what he was.

Christie did a quick examination of him. He did as he was told; he was losing the power to resist. Peter gave her what medical records he had and the end result was a sleeping prescription. Damon was getting serious circles under his eyes and since he crossed the milestone of trying to remove his anklet, it was time to make him start sleeping at night.

Of course when it was time to take the pill, Damon tried to hold on to one last right of self and refused. End result, to avoid a spanking, Peter placed the pill on Damon's tongue and he had to swallow water, take another drink, swish it in his mouth, swallow again, and then Peter checked his mouth for insurance. Damon lost all control of self. Of course, if he ever went to jail, it would be the same thing, but with no one around you who cared. He did not understand that little detail.

***WC***

The sleeping pill did not still the song of the night, but as Damon looked out the window, he knew he was groggy, his head was not clear; you cannot answer the call with a muddy mind… The dark siren expected perfection and he could not give it, he went back to bed and shortly, to sleep, his mistress denied.

***WC***

##### If you want a happy ending it depends on where you stop the story. 'Till the next chapter #####


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Spoiler: **Payback 2/24 Yes, I know I'm out of sequence, but it works…. **Quotes are in bold print.**

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her and Colakirk's encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**WARNING**: ** Discipline of a juvenile delinquent is used. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional show.

**DAMON III** **(11)**

The child that showed up for breakfast the next morning was not the child that El and Peter had come to know and love. He was quiet, subdued and resigned. There was no fight, no resistance, and no light in his eyes.

When Damon reported to Agent Hughes that morning, Hughes noticed the change in the boy, there was no fear in him. It somewhat disconcerted him, he was used to young agents with always a touch of fear in them, and this boy faced him squarely. Not with any defiance or any disrespect he could ascertain, he could have dealt with that, but something he did not understand.

What Damon faced him with was trust. Subconsciously, Damon had transferred his trust to Hughes. Peter had failed him, Peter had said to trust him, and the result was a complete and total prisoner. But the man he stood in front of would never fail him. He would always dislike him, always believe the worse in him, and that was something he could believe in, to understand, to trust.

Hughes taped the report on his desk. "You read sensitive FBI files?"

"Yes Sir."

"Did someone give you permission to read them?"

"No Sir."

"Why did you read them?"

"They were there Sir."

The kid was throwing Hughes off his game, he had expected an argument, a denial, at least a Caffrey misdirect. If the kid had been disrespectful at all, he had been prepared to have corporal punishment administered for reading the files. But the kid stood before him like he expected to be punished and that threw Hughes off his mark. He pointed to a spot on the end of the report where he had entered a couple lines,

"Sign here. This will be kept in your files as a statement."

Damon stepped forward and observed the added info, printed name, signature line, date, witness lines. He had to think before signing_, Damon P. Henderson_, he had only signed that name once before, it was not real; it was not his name… He signed where indicated. Hughes signed the witness line.

"Go write your next report boy."

Damon turned and left. He went to his table and started working but not with the fervency of the day before. There was no fervency left in him.

***WC***

The rest of the first month passed without a major incident; Damon spent them wrapped in the arms of depression.

However during that period there are couple incidents worth mentioning.

***WC***

When he turned in his second report to Hughes, he waited obediently while Hughes read his report. As he read, Hughes had reached for his coffee cup to take a drink and frowned when he realized it was empty.

"Would you like me to get you more coffee Sir?" Damon asked simply.

Hughes looked at him, looking for some sign of deceit; some sign of dishonesty, after all, the kid was a criminal. He saw nothing but the question.

"Yes boy."

Damon reached for the cup, "How do you like it Sir?"

"Black."

Damon took his cup and left the office. Hughes could not help but watch Damon the whole time he got the coffee. He was watching for Damon to sabotage the coffee somehow, add salt, spit in it, something a criminal would do. He saw nothing suspicious.

Damon returned and stopped outside the door.

"Get in here boy."

Damon entered and set the coffee on the desk for Hughes.

"Rule number five…" He hesitated, "Is it number five?"

"Six Sir."

He waved a hand, "Whatever. Next rule, if I send you on a simple mission, like coffee, you do not have to have permission to reenter."

"Yes Sir."

The kid was getting on Hughes' nerves. He was too complacent; he went back to reading the report. This one was on the Aaron Faber Gallery, and again, it was complete, except for Neal's input on the robbery. Damon even included the signature and date lines at the bottom.

Hughes thought maybe the kid didn't understand. "You do know that signing these reports is an admission of guilt?"

"Yes Sir."

They both signed the report and Damon was released to start his third report.

After that, any time Damon noticed Hughes coffee cup empty, he offered to get more.

***WC***

When Damon turned in his third report, his theft at the Guggenheim, minus Neal's input, again based on a failed crime he had read about in an FBI report, Hughes was getting concerned.

"How many FBI files have you read?"

"A lot Sir."

Hughes studied him; he was getting stranger every day, "How many?"

Damon closed his eyes trying to remember, "Dozens…, a hundred…, hundreds…." He opened his eyes, waiting for the explosion, the punishment he expected, understood, and accepted.

Hughes was out of his element, "You read hundreds and remembered the details on these three?"

"Yes Sir."

"Send Burke in here on your way out."

Damon stood there.

"Dismissed! Send Burke here."

Damon gave one knock on Agent Burke's door and waited. Peter looked up and saw him; Damon hadn't entered his office in over a week and had never knocked before…

"Come in Damon."

Damon went to a proper position in front of Peter's desk. It was unsettling to Peter.

"What Damon?"

"Agent Hughes would like to speak with you Sir." It was stated too simple, too perfect, and too proper for a kid.

"Okay Damon."

Damon stood there waiting…

Peter did not like the formality, "Okay Damon, you can go."

Damon turned and left his office.

***WC***

Peter went to Hughes office and Hughes told him what Damon had told him.

Peter paled, "He said hundreds?"

"Yes. Is that a problem Peter?"

Now Peter was in a setback, he knew Damon's abilities, he knew Damon's recall, "It could be…"

He turned to Hughes, "Reese, that boy has almost perfect memory. If he read that many files, he knows how we work, how we investigate, he knows our MO. He knows everything… That's why his crimes were so perfect."

Hughes guffawed, "I'm sure you exaggerate, Peter."

"No, I don't."

***WC***

During this same period of time Damon at home was… was not.

Damon existed, but only in body. El gave him constant attention but he just listened, nothing else. She learned not to ask a question.

"Damon, do you want to watch NCIS or Suits?"

"I don't care." And then he would leave the room.

She learned to say "Damon, we are watching…." It was not a command, not an order, but left him no reason for argument. He watched. He did not see, but he watched.

"Damon do you want to play cards or a board game?"

"_I don't care."_

Turned into…

"Damon, let's play gin rummy."

Damon never defied an order, never disobeyed a command, "Yes Ma'am." He played.

She knew he loved to read, and tried to get him to tell her what books he wanted from the library. He didn't care. She brought books home for him anyway, hoping he would be interested, but he only read the ones she required for home study.

***WC***

Whenever no one remembered to tell him what to do, Damon disappeared into the basement. Finishing the drywall took no forward thought, but it took concentration. It was a place for him to relax, to retreat, to fold within himself without seeing himself; it was a place of peace. He had found a small portable radio down there, and acquired; not by stealing, he found them in another box; a set of ear buds to listen to it, but the city did not offer a radio station that played the music of his heart, which he felt was par for the course. He found an old rock classic station to listen to. But he had to play the music soft, just in case one of his prison wardens called for him….

***WC***

He did hold onto one little act of self; lunch. Ever since he had inadvertently missed lunch the one day with Jones, he had started looking for opportunities to avoid eating lunch. It was his one act of defiance. It was the one thing that he could control to keep a sense of self.

***WC***

"Peter,"

That word alone made Peter cringe, not honey, not hon, not any word of endearment that he had grown used to and love…

They were in bed, alone, the time of peace and quiet. "Peter, we need to talk about Damon."

Peter turned to her, held her, soothed her, "We talked about this Hon. I told you the first month would be hard on him. It is not uncommon for a prisoner to get depressed in their initial stage of incarceration and that's what this is for him."

"But you didn't say how hard it would be on us…."

"I really didn't know…"

"How do we bring him back? How do we make him right?"

"Neal says either it comes slowly as he emotionally accepts his situation, or a trauma to wake him up. Just keep doing what you're doing Hon. Continue trying to keep him involved."

"Oh Hon, he's had enough traumas for any lifetime…"

"I know."

"When are you going to talk to him about the adoption?"

"Not until he's more emotionally stable, right now he'd probably say no, and I couldn't stand hearing that."

She cuddled up closer to him, "He has to agree. He just has to."

***WC***

The morning had started out wrong for Damon. Peter and El had had a fight. Not like normal people had fights, but a fight none the less, about something stupid like dry cleaning. Satchmo had even left the room. Damon was thankful he wasn't in the room; he figured it was probably about him anyway. He was afraid if he didn't get out of their house pretty quick, they might even split up because of him. _Damn anklet_!

Agent Burke and Neal had left together on some case, it happened so often Damon didn't even hardly pay attention, and then… something really bad happened to shake up Damon's world.

Hughes made the announcement that one of their own had been kidnapped. _One of their own! It was Agent Burke!_ Damon watched helplessly as agents started jumping to Hughes orders. He observed Agent Berrigan and Neal go into Hughes office; he wished he could hear what they were talking about. He snuck into Peter's office to peak through the window between the two offices. He could not hear anything but he swore he saw Neal mouth the words, **"He will kill Peter if I don't engage him."** _Kill Agent Burke! No!_

When they got done Mrs. Burke showed up and Neal turned into Peter's office. He saw Damon scurry into the conference room to eavesdrop from there. El followed him into the office.

"**Elizabeth."** Hughes said as he entered the office. **"Every agent in the bureau has one goal right now, to find your husband."**

"**I know, thank you Reece…"**

"**We're going to post a team at your home in case he makes contact. Just give us a few minutes and I'll have them take you back."** Reece left Burke's office. Damon could not help but think that Agent Hughes had lousy bedside manners….

Mrs. Burke turned to Neal, **"They say this is the biggest manhunt the FBI has thrown in a decade…"**

Neal was leaning against the window ledge, **"Even I've never seen anything like this."**

Damon had moved into the office with them.

El was wringing her hands, **"What do you know about Keller?"**

"**He's a chess player. He thinks ten, twelve moves ahead."**

Damon was worried about Mrs. Burke and moved up by her. She continued talking it Neal, **"Everything they're doing… helicopters… agents knocking on doors…" **

"**He would have foreseen that."**

She put her arms around Damon, held him close for support, **"What are you doing?"** She asked Neal.

"**They want me to go home, sit tight."**

He could feel the fear in her clutch, **"Is that what you're gonna do?"**

"**What do you want me to do?"**

"**Whatever it takes to bring him home."** She turned pulling Damon with her.

"No Ma'am, I need to stay here. To listen. To know."

She considered a second and gave him a hug. "You let me know as soon as you know anything. Okay?"

"Yes Ma'am." She left and he turned to Neal. He did not realize he had tears in his eyes,

"Find him. Get him. I know you can."

Neal wanted to hold him, to reassure him, to promise him, but he was worried about violating Damon's probation,

Damon pleaded, "Please… Don't let them kill him…"

He gave Damon's shoulder a squeeze on the way out the door, "We'll get him back, Damon."

***WC***

Damon tried to disappear into the woodwork as he watched and listened to everything. He stayed out of the way so no one would send him away. His mind was in turmoil, _Agent Burke!_ He had distanced himself from him. Hated him. But now… He could not imagine life without him. They had to find him. They had to bring him back. He had to tell him he was sorry. He needed him.

And then Keller escaped and someone finally said a first name. There were a few Kellers in the files he had read, but finally someone said Mathew. Mathew Keller was the worse one! And now he was free to kill Agent Burke_! Please, please, please Neal, save Agent Burke._

Hughes was making an announcement, **"…three guards from the transfer bus are in custody. We've confirmed that Keller paid off two of them and the driver. Lang was paid a ransom with…"**

Just then Neal and Diana came back and Hughes changed his line of fire, **"Caffrey! Berrigan! My office!"** Damon knew that tone, Hughes was pissed about something. And so was he, Neal had come back without Agent Burke…

It looked like Hughes was chewing Neal out for something and then he told Neal to go home. _Home! He has to save Agent Burke! Why was Hughes sending him home?_

And then Jones answered the phone… **"I'VE GOT PETER ON THE LINE!"**

They put him on speaker thankfully, that way Damon could hear him. He asked for Neal but Hughes talked to him. Agent Burke was the only one Damon knew who could stand up to Agent Hughes as he insisted on talking to Neal. He needed to be talked through a jail break…

Damon watched the agents jump to Neal's commands as he quickly simulated Peter's situation so he could think through it…

"**Tell me about the door."**

"**The cell door has an electronic key pad, Foxfender ES320"**

Damon moved up to the edge of Neal's taped off area listening intently as Neal talked Peter to the fuse box and told him how to short the mechanism. Subconsciously, Damon filed the information in his memory on how the beat the Foxfender ES320.

Peter had to hang up his phone to use his phone battery, Damon held his breath…

It seemed like an eternity before the phone rang back and Damon heard those words, **"I'm out."** Damon felt like he was going to faint.

Peter continued, **"I've got Lang at gunpoint. Better hurry, Keller's on his way too."**

Agents started grabbing FBI jackets and flying out the door. Damon could only stand and watch, holding the back of a chair for support, feeling helpless. Hughes put his hand on his shoulder, "Don't worry Damon. Peter can handle himself until the agents get there. He'll be fine."

Damon looked up with teary eyes at the gruff old man, "Thank you Sir."

Hughes gave him another pat on his shoulder and went into his office. Damon gave a quick call to El to tell her and found out she already knew. She told him she was in route to the location. He started helping the few agents left behind to put the office back in order to have something to do while he waited for the final call that Peter was safe. It wasn't long in coming; Hughes popped his head out of his office and made the announcement.

When Peter did return and pass through the bullpen talking to agents as he went up to his office, Damon hung back, watching his every move. As Peter entered his office he turned around and spotted Damon looking up at him, he gave him the two finger point to come on up. Damon damn near flew up the steps, he did not knock, he did not wait for permission to enter and he did not go stand in the proper position. He stood in front of Peter, afraid to make the first move. El and Neal had both told Peter how upset Damon had been. He grabbed the boy and wrapped him in a hug and Damon gratefully hugged him back.

"I'm not that easy to get rid of son. I told you to trust me."

"I do Sir. I do."

##### If you want a happy ending it depends on where you stop the story. 'Till the next chapter #####


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her and Colakirk's encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**WARNING**: ** Discipline of a juvenile delinquent is used. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional series...

**DAMON III** **(12)**

Damon didn't just snap out of his depression, but he did start the healing climb. Nevertheless he was still a prisoner, still stir-crazy, and that did not help.

***WC***

Damon told Peter it was time to start painting the basement.

"Damon, you are spending too much time down there. You're isolating yourself."

Damon protested, "But painting is the fun part."

El spoke up, "Hon, maybe we could just limit his time down there. They do say painting is a type of relaxation therapy."

Peter sighed, he could see the kid wanted to paint. "Okay, but you will not disappear down there every chance you get. And you will always have the basement properly ventilated. The weather's getting nicer, leave the windows open and use the exhaust fans to pull out the fumes." He pointed his finger at Damon. "You better listen to me on this, or I will tan your hide." Then he reached out and ruffled Damon's hair, "I don't want to take a chance on doing any damage to that fantastic brain of yours."

Damon knew the weather was getting nicer, that's what made it so much harder being stuck indoors. "Yes Sir."

"Tell you what Damon. How about we start painting this weekend? You and me; one of us can do the edging, while the other uses the roller. What do ya say buddy?"

Damon nodded yes, he would like that.

"What about me?" El whined, "Can't I use a brush too? Or is this just for men?"

Peter hugged El and looked at Damon, "What do you think Damon? Should we let her into our elite club?"

Damon gave the smallest of smiles, a lot more than he had in the last month, "Yes that would be cool."

El went over and hugged him, "Why thank you for including me in your paint party!" She noticed that Damon did not stiffen up from the hug; maybe he even pushed into her a little.

Peter again spoke up, "Damon, it's been thirty days. Your sleep habits should basically be back to normal. I've had you on half-strength sleeping pills for over a week, weaning you off of them. I think it's time we stop them. But, if you have any trouble sleeping, if you still stay up beating on the bags, you need to tell me."

Damon wanted off the pills, he hated the way they muddled his brain, even if it was only while he was sleeping. "Yes Sir. I'll tell you."

***WC***

And he did wake up in the dark of the night. He longed to go out and experience the thrill of defeating a security system. It did not drive him to anger like it had before; it was just a deep longing. He sighed; Agent Burke would make him go back on the pill if he stayed up too long. He could not go right back to sleep, so he had to use the old boredom method. He didn't count sheep, he built a brick wall. He visualized the procedure: spread the mortar, lay the brick, tap the brick; spread the mortar… lay the brick… tap the brick… spread the mortar… lay the… He went back to sleep.

***WC***

Peter questioned him the next morning. "Did you wake up last night Damon?"

Damon exhaled, "Yes Sir."

"What did you feel?"

That question was not one Damon expected. "Feel? I wanted to go… to… to…"

"Steal?"

Damon dropped his head, "Yes Sir."

Peter nodded his head. "How long did you stay up?"

"Only about thirty minutes, then I went back to bed. I didn't want to go back on the pill."

"Well, that's not enough to put you back on. Let me know if it gets worse."

Damon was relieved, "Yes Sir."

Damon's answers did not surprise Peter. He had a source of information. If Neal had never been open about anything else in his life, he was when it came to Damon.

***WC***

At work Damon was getting bored, there was no basement to hide in. He finished his fourth report and delivered it to Hughes. It was the one from his robbery of the Museum of Science, of Albert Einstein's original 46 page manuscript of his Theory of Relativity.

Hughes again sent Damon to Peter's office to tell Peter to report to him.

""You see, Peter, you exaggerate his abilities. This one is not based on an FBI file."

"Isn't it? We have several cases where the museum was robbed. He just didn't do a 'play' theft there before he left, but he would remember details from those files if he read them. He calculated where we would not look based on what he knows about us." Peter had been impressed, and stunned on the way Damon had used math, the math he had taught him, to do that.

But Hughes still did not believe Damon was as smart as Peter gave him credit for.

***WC***

Since his depression was lifting, so was his lethargy. Damon started folding small pieces of paper into little squares and shooting them at the wall with a rubber band. Diana noticed his boredom, heck she would be too.

"Hey Damon, you want to file these for me?" She had about a half dozen files.

"Yes Ma'am." Damon was more than happy to get up and do something. He needed a break from the report writing.

After that, the agents started using him as somewhat of a gopher. Not too much, just enough to help with his increasing boredom. He did still have reports to write, and if he was working, they did not bother him.

***WC***

His fifth report was Mark McGwire's $3,000,000 70th homerun baseball. That was an easy one to write. Todd McFarlane had it with him in his hotel room and the hotel security was easy to circumvent. Problem was writing why he chose the target. Did Agent Burke want to know it's because he loved baseball… Damon wrote the report, he wrote the truth.

When he turned in the report, and because of Peter's kidnapping incident, Damon finally got up enough nerve to ask a question that had been bugging him,

"Sir?"

Hughes considered him; he had never asked him a question before, "What?"

Damon swallowed, "You didn't have anything on me, did you Sir?"

"Why do you ask?"

"These reports. They're to get my MO on record, aren't they?"

"Will my answer make you write your reports any differently?"

"No Sir."

Hughes rubbed his head as he studied the boy. The boy had been truthful so far. If he lied to him now, the boy might change, "Yes boy. You're right. But we have an agreement, and I have five of your reports. I will know if you start lying."

"I'll write them Sir. And they will be the truth." Damon replied sincerely.

"Get outta here boy."

Hughes did not send him after Peter, which would be too obvious; he called Peter in later and showed him the report. Peter had mixed feelings. The kid had thought about them while he was gone, he often wondered about that, but to steal because of him…

Reese watched the emotions in Peter's face. "I understand how you feel Peter, but he would have stolen something."

***WC***

Damon had overheard talk of a new case, a bank robbery at the First State Bank of Manhattan, the MO sounded somewhat familiar to him, but he couldn't hear enough to be sure. So when Diana asked him to put some files away, he gladly jumped at the chance, hoping the case would be one of them. It was. He went to the file section and started putting the other files away, waiting for his chance…

When all was clear, he 'accidently' dropped the bank file, making sure the contents scattered. He quickly read the pages as he slowly picked them up. Suddenly, a pair of black oxfords was standing right in front of him. That was the problem with FBI attire, you could not readily identify a particular agent by his shoes… he slowly looked up at Agent Jones.

"I… I dropped the file Sir. I was just picking it up."

"Yes, I see that Damon. And how much have you read as you picked it up?" He was not aware of Damon's speed reading or his memory abilities.

"I… ah…"

"Damon, you know you are not supposed to read the files. What were you thinking?"

Without thinking, Damon blurted out, "But you are after the wrong guy! The same MO was used last year at Bank of America on Greenwich. Your suspect was in prison back then."

Jones looked at him confused. "What are you talking about Damon?"

Damon was apprehensive, he'd done it now… Of course they would figure it out, they were the FBI… He pointed toward the file shelves, "Second shelf down, sixth from the right…"

Jones didn't know what to think, but he went to the files and pulled the one Damon indicated and quickly perused it. When he finished, he looked up at Damon. "When did you read this?"

Damon looked ready to bolt, "Before. Before I left…"

Jones took the two bank files, "Put the rest of those away, and try to stay out of trouble."

"Yes Sir." Damon watched as Jones headed up to Peter's office. Great. He was in trouble now. Why couldn't he just do as he was told? He put the rest of the files away and went to his desk wondering if it was going to happen here, or would Agent Burke wait to get home first…

He saw Jones and Peter leave Peter's office to go to Hughes office. He waited, if Hughes was involved, it would happen here. He mentally prepared himself. He didn't have to wait too long before he was summoned to Hughes office. He followed proper reporting procedures,

"Yes Sir?"

"Do you want to explain why you were reading FBI files after I told you not to, boy?"

Damon thought _'in for a penny, in for a pound'_ and explained, "I overheard the agents talking about the Manhattan case, and, well, it sounded like a similar MO to that," he indicated the other file, "and two other files. But the prime suspect has been locked up for five years. He couldn't have done it."

"He's been out for six months."

"Yes, but that one was a year ago, and the other two were each another year back…"

"What other two?"

Damon swallowed. They had to know, they were FBI. They were just testing him… "The Wells Fargo on Lexington and Emigrant Savings on Church… They… they're in your cold case file room…"

Hughes looked ready to explode, "When did you go into that room?"

"Before Sir. Not since I've been back."

Peter spoke up, "Jones, why don't you go pull those files and bring them here?"

Jones responded, "You got your key? I left mine in my desk." Which made everyone look at Damon.

He knew the question, he wanted to look down, to look away, he wasn't allowed to, he closed his eyes a second and then opened them and looked at Hughes, "It's an easy lock to… to pick…"

Peter handed Jones his keys and Jones left to retrieve the files.

Damon stood there fidgeting, almost wishing they would hurry up and get this over with. Hughes studied him, and Peter watched both of them.

Jones soon returned with the files and the three agents started comparing the four files.

Peter spoke up, "Damon, there are some differences in these MO's. How did you come up with the idea it was the same suspect?"

"Sir, the basic modus operandi is the same; the slight differences could be accounted for from using different crews."

"So, why would someone do that? Just curious Damon, what is your evaluation on this?"

Damon figured he had nothing to lose. "If I had internet access, I would have checked to see if there were any special conferences or conventions in town during all four of the robberies. That would be the easiest way to find him. I don't think it's a local, that's why he uses different crews for each heist. If he's from the conferences, maybe it's a white collar professional that gets off once a year from the thrill." He had to pause at this; he knew what they were thinking. "Anyway, I bet he doesn't piss in his own backyard. If conferences don't match up, it will be harder. Someone who vacations here once a year…"

Damon stopped, they were staring at him and he figured he had gone too far. Now he was really in for it, telling them how to do their job! He waited.

Hughes finally spoke up, "Get out of here. Go write your reports or something."

Damon didn't move right away, it was not what he expected to hear, he saw Hughes winding up to repeat the dismissal and he left.

***WC***

After the boy left, Peter turned to Hughes, "Now will you believe me?"

Jones was totally in the dark, "What just happened?"

Hughes sat back and pulled on his ear in thought. "He was told not to read anymore files…"

Peter stood up and indicated the four files on Hughes desk, "Tell me he's not right! Or very close to it. This is a major break Reese and you know it." He picked up the files and handed them to Jones. "Clinton, research these dates and see if any conferences or conventions cross match and then check the participants."

Jones took the files and left, he was anxious to find out himself.

Peter stood in front of Hughes desk, "Reese, I cannot in good conscience punish him for this. I won't. What I want to do is find out if he has any more information on cold case files for us."

Hughes thought a minute, "Peter, I cannot let a fourteen year old criminal lose in our files. You can question him on what he's already read, but I do not want him reading any new ones. I have to think about this."

"I understand Reese."

***WC***

As Peter went back to his office, he gave Damon the two finger point to come up. Damon was sure this was it, but why upstairs in front of everyone, that was not cool. He trudged up the stairs and knocked on Peter's door.

"Get in here. I called you here, you don't have to knock."

Damon went to stand in front of Peter's desk and waited.

Peter saw the look in the boy's face. "Damon I didn't call you up here to punish you." The relief in Damon's face was evident. "Pull the chair up and sit down." He indicated the place Damon used to spend hours when he first came to them, sitting at Peter's desk, reading. Damon carefully did as instructed, still leery.

"Damon, you have read a lot of files, right?"

"Y… yes Sir."

"And you remember every one of them, right?"

"Kind of, Sir."

Peter thought it was more than 'kind of' but went on, "Are there other files that you noticed have cross matched, that we didn't file that way?"

Now Damon was getting worried, how could he know something they didn't? "I… I guess so, Sir."

Peter handed him some paper and a pen, he figured Damon would be more relaxed that way, rather than trying to coax it out of him. "Damon, I want you to search your memory and write down all the files that cross match. If you want to write a brief summary as to your ideas that would be fine."

Damon started to get up to head back to his desk. "No Damon, I'd rather you do it here, if that's alright with you. That way if you or I have any questions, we are right here to ask each other." Damon wearily sat back down.

"Relax Damon." Peter rubbed his head, "You are not in trouble, and I would appreciate your help."

_Not in trouble? Appreciate my help?_ Now Damon was really confused. "But Sir, I can't just randomly remember things."

Now Peter looked confused, "What do you mean?"

"It… it takes something to key the memory, like when I overheard them talking about the bank heist. I had forgotten, no forgotten's not the right word, '_filed?_' those memories and their talk keyed them back up. I don't know how to explain it…"

Peter smiled, "Okay, Damon, do the best you can. Key words; cold case files and cross connect. If you can't remember anything right now, that's alright."

Damon thought, he thought back to the first day he snuck into the file room. It had been a simple push button door lock, anyone could pick it. He went in and opened a file… As he opened the files in his head, he started remembering…

He was still writing when Peter told him it was time to go home. "You can finish up tomorrow, Damon. El expects us home."

Damon gave a half smile as he looked up, "Yes Sir."

He had enjoyed sitting at Peter's desk, like in the old days. He was scared then too, but a different scared. He had first learned to trust Agent Burke sitting at that desk…

***WC***

##### If you want a happy ending it depends on where you stop the story. 'Till the next chapter #####


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her and Colakirk's encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**WARNING**: ** Discipline of a juvenile delinquent is used. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional series...

**DAMON III** **(13)**

As Peter and Damon were leaving the office, Jones hailed Peter, "Hey Boss, we got four conference hits on those dates. Here's the list and the attendees that were there at each of the four times."

He handed Peter a sheet of paper listing the Publishing Business Conference & Expo, Internal Medicine CME Conference, Accounting Technology New York Show & Conference, and the 99% Conference. Each one had from seven to fourteen names listed by it. Peter tilted the paper so Damon could read it; after all it was his lead. "What do you think Damon?"

Peter could almost swear he heard the kid's brain clicking as he thought…

Damon looked up at Peter to see if he was serious. Was he really asking his opinion? "I'd go with the accounting names first."

Accounting, that got Peter's interest, "Why those choices?"

Damon tried to figure how to explain. "Because accountants are usually underestimated with their boring jobs, but to be good, and most that go to these are good, you have to have a strong analytical mind, one that might need a challenge, a risk occasionally to be able to deal with the tediousness of their jobs." He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know; it just stands out to me."

Peter handed the paper back to Jones. "You heard him Jones. First thing tomorrow I want you back on this."

Jones addressed Damon, "These are the only files? There are none older?"

Damon responded, "I don't know, I didn't read any older files, I didn't get that far."

Peter and Jones looked at each other, "Boss, I'll get someone on that tomorrow."

"Good." Peter wished he could let Damon read those files, he thought he could read them faster and more accurately.

Neal was watching this whole exchange, smiling away at Damon.

Just before the glass door shut as they headed to the elevator, Damon swore he heard Agent Berrigan say, "Neal, get that 'proud papa' smile off your face." He glanced back and Neal winked at him, he couldn't help but give a little smile back.

Peter did have a talk with Damon that evening about breaking the rules. If Damon ever heard anything again that 'keyed' a memory, he was to go straight to Peter and tell him.

"But I wasn't sure…," had been Damon's response.

"Damon, I don't care if it's just an inkling, please come talk to me. It will save you from a hiding. Understood?"

Now Damon understood, "Yes Sir."

***WC***

Damon sat at his table in shock. He knew what was in his pocket. He knew he had put it there. _Why?_ He had accidently bumped into Agent Blake, well, more than bumped; they had all but tripped over each other. But it had been a total accident, unplanned and unexpected. Why did he reach into Blake's pocket? Why had he taken his wallet? He had acted on pure reflex and now what was he going to do?

He had to figure out a way to put the wallet back before he was discovered. How? He was shaking_. I can't do it shaking like this._ He was trying to figure out how to put it back exactly where he found it, but then the alternative struck him. He could drop it by his desk, or bury it on his desk; all he had to do was calm down and get over there. He started reciting the 'Litany Against Fear' in his head and felt the calming effects…

He coolly got up heading for the break area to get a root beer; he walked by Blake's desk on the way and noticed his coffee cup was empty. He liked Blake, so it wasn't really unusual for him to ask Blake if he wanted a refill.

"Sure!" Blake responded, "Thanks."

As Damon reached for the cup, he 'accidently' knocked a stack of files over onto Blake's lap.

"Sir I'm sorry!" He exclaimed as he grabbed for the falling files and deftly slipped the wallet back in Blake's pocket. Not the same one he took it from, but it would work.

Blake chuckled, "That's the second time you've been a klutz today. Did you have one too many?"

Damon just gave a small smile back, _you'll never know…_

After that, it became a game, he would lift various objects from the agents' pockets, he would try to avoid wallets; agents got pretty upset if they noticed their badge and credentials missing; and then return the items undetected. He was proud of his skills and this game not only kept them sharp, but actually improved them. Slipping the items back, preferably into another pocket, was just adding to his expertise.

***WC***

Damon wrote his sixth report. He skipped the report on the Met, he didn't know how to explain that, and did the one on Degas' 'Rehearsal on Stage' that he stole from The New York Academy of Art. Another easy one, the security was too easy. He even briefly wondered why he had wasted his time on that one.

***WC***

It was a couple days before Neal noticed Damon playing his little 'game'. He had no knowledge how long the boy had been doing it, but carefully observed him as only Neal can. Damon never noticed the sly con tracking his every move out of the corner of his eye.

Once Neal was absolutely sure that the boy was not going to stop until he got caught, and he knew the boy would be caught, he waited for the right opportunity. It took a couple more days; Neal did have a job; to get the right chance.

Damon had gone into the restroom, Neal, ever vigilantly looking for his break, knew it was empty. He also had been timing Damon just for this opportunity and knew about how long he would take. No one else went in, or seemed to notice Damon had gone, and he casually entered the restroom.

Damon was drying his hands with a paper towel when he saw Neal enter; he also knew the room was empty, so it was for the moment safe, "Hi Ne…"

Neal quickly and smoothly crossed the short distance, grabbed Damon by his collar and slammed him up against the wall. This was not Neal's normal way, but he knew he only had moments to get his point across; there was no time for discussion, no time for argument, nor was there any time for explanations. This was a one shot deal and he intended to use every second he had productively.

There is a hardness in Neal that few people ever get to see, or would want to see. A hardness that kept him alive through all the hard times and that is hidden from view by his boyish actions and mannerisms. Damon saw it and the sight of it shocked him to silence.

If anyone could yell in hushed tones, Neal managed it. "You will quit playing this stupid little game of yours before you get caught. This is not a game Damon! Do you have any idea how far Peter has bent the rules trying to keep your stupid ass out of jail and your record clean? If I see you steal anything one more time," Neal pulled him away from the wall a little then slammed him back, not enough to hurt, but to emphasis his point, "ONE MORE TIME DAMON! I will tell Peter and you know he will take his belt to you, and I will tell him to add ten more for me. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

Damon nodded.

"This is not a game!" Neal repeated.

Neal heard the door start to open, he let go of Damon and stealthily slid into a stall as smooth as a cat burglar. One of the agents walked in and Damon tried to act normal. To avoid eye contact, he picked up the paper towel he had dropped, threw it in the trash and headed out the door. He was still shaking when he sat at his desk.

Damon tried to understand what had just happen. That wasn't the Neal he knew. Neal was just like him. He thought Neal would think the game was cool. Neal was a pushover. He had thought that Neal was somewhat of a sissy. He was a metrosexual for gosh sake! Where he came from everyone called metrosexuals sissies. He watched Neal exit the restroom as suave and debonair as always. He watched him casually talk to others as he moved to his desk as if nothing had happened.

That pissed Damon off. He had just scared the crap out of him and acts like nothing happened. Well, he didn't have to listen to Neal. Neal was not his… his… He didn't have to listen to him. He would just play his game when Neal wasn't there, that was easy enough; Neal was there only half the time anyway.

***WC***

The first paint party was held in the basement that weekend. They started on the storage room first, as all the boxes were in the big room out of the way. Since ceiling and walls were all going to be the light grey, trimming was a piece of cake, and Peter could not keep up with two trimmers. El started chided him for falling behind and soon Damon started warming to the mood.

Damon told El which box a small stereo was stored in and they set it up, putting on some background music to enjoy as they worked.

While Damon was drinking root beer, and Peter was drinking beer, without too much time to stop and take a drink, El had time to enjoy her wine. She drank just enough to get a little playful as she worked.

"Hey Damon, you missed a spot."

Damon studied the wall. He saw nothing wrong so he turned to El, "Where Ma'am?"

"Right there!" She exclaimed as she stripped his nose with paint.

"Maaa'aaam!" Damon was initially shocked and then a little smile appeared. "Not fair!" He exclaimed. He couldn't get her back the same way, so he went to her nice neat trim and swiped his brush crossways through it.

"Oh yeah?" El swiped her brush across his lines. It was the storage room, who cared about nice neat brush strokes. Damon and El started competing who could make the wildest designs on the walls before Peter came with the roller and covered it all. Damon was almost laughing, almost.

El was laughing and pulled Damon to her, he definitely leaned into her as she hugged him. 'Proud Mary' by Creedence Clearwater Revival came on the radio and El perked up, "I love that song! Come on Damon, let's dance!" She grabbed him and started to pull him around the empty room.

Suddenly he stopped, "Ma'am, I'm supposed to lead."

El laughed brightly, "Of course you are! Take it away!"

And Damon did lead; he had a natural genetically inherited grace.

When the song finished, El took him in another hug, "Damon, where did you learn to dance like that?"

"My… his… Stephen's mom taught us. She loved to dance."

She cast a sly glance at Peter, "Maybe I found me a new dancing partner."

But then the song 'First Time Ever I Saw Your Face' by Roberta Flack came on. Peter tapped on Damon's shoulder to cut in and handed him the roller. "I think this dance is mine."

Damon took the roller and stepped out of the way. He was trying to finish up the last wall but kept glancing back at the couple until the song ended and they embraced each other in a long kiss. Damon turned red as he tried to keep his back to them. He heard El break out in merriment.

"Hon, I think we embarrassed him."

Damon felt himself go redder.

The first weekend, they finished the storage room and the laundry room; both were painted a very light grey. Light enough to brighten the room, without having the stark white glare effect.

"We'll do the main room next weekend, eh Damon?"

Damon had enjoyed the time together; he could wait one more weekend before the real painting began. "Yes Sir!"

***WC***

##### If you want a happy ending it depends on where you stop the story. 'Till the next chapter #####


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her and Colakirk's encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**WARNING: Corporal punishment is used in this chapter. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional series...

**DAMON III** **(14)**

A couple days later Neal was approached by Diana. "Neal, you better quit before you get caught. All the agents are starting to get suspicious and starting to talk to each other."

Neal flashed an innocent smile, what did they know about the treasure? "Quit what Diana?"

"Don't act innocent with me Neal! At first it was kind of funny, swearing you left your keys or money clip in one pocket and then finding them in another, but enough is enough. It's not funny anymore Neal."

She watched Neal go pale and knew she had struck a nerve, but had no idea which one. Just then Peter came out of his office, "Grab your coat Neal, we've got work to do. Let's go."

They were gone for a couple hours and Neal didn't have time to think about what Diana had told him until they stepped off the elevator to return to the office. Neal saw Damon by Franklin and pulled Peter back to the small inset of the elevator doors to keep them both out of sight.

"What are you doing Neal?" Peter demanded.

Neal held his fingers to his lips, "Shhh"

"You don't get to shhh me. What's going on Neal?"

Neal watched Damon make his play and move away from Franklin. He saw it was the lift and not the return as Damon slid something into his own pocket.

"Peter, you need to get Damon to your office now and tell him to empty his pockets. Do not let him near Franklin. Do not give him a chance to remove anything from his pockets before he gets to your office. Do it now Peter."

Peter started to question Neal, who was Neal to give him orders, but he saw the look on his face and knew he was dead serious.

Neal stayed out of sight as Peter walked through the glass doors and told Damon to come with him to his office. Peter saw Damon hesitate, start to make an excuse, and start to turn away, his hand heading toward his pocket.

"Now Damon." The boy still hesitated. Peter beckoned with his hand. "Come on Damon. Now."

Damon looked around and did not see Neal. He knew his lift had been clean. So what if Agent Burke needed to talk to him, he didn't know anything. He was safe. He headed for the office with Peter right behind him watching his every move.

When they got to the office, Peter closed the door and sat in his chair. He did not offer Damon a seat; he left him standing in front of his desk. "Empty your pockets Damon."

Damon paled; there was no way he could know! "Why?"

Peter noticed Damon was too nervous to remember to use the word 'Sir', which he rarely forgot. "Now Damon."

Damon slowly removed everything from his pockets, except Franklin's car keys, watching Peter the whole time, looking for clues as to what this was about.

Peter saw nothing suspicious, a couple dollar bills, lose change, a couple rubber bands, some gum. Nothing unusual. "Is that everything?"

Damon did not want to lie to Peter, but neither did he want to pull out the keys. "What else would there be Sir?"

"You tell me Damon. I asked you a question and I want an answer. Or would you prefer I frisk you to ensure compliance." Peter could tell by Damon's demeanor that something was off, and Neal knew what it was.

Damon contemplated his options and knew he had none; he sluggishly pulled out the keys and laid them on Peter's desk. Peter slowly picked them up, he had heard a touch of the office gossip and had blown it off as agents just trying to blame something else for their forgetfulness.

"Who do these belong to?"

"A… agent Franklin… I was going to give them back!"

Peter was proud of himself for maintaining a calm voice, "And how did you get them?"

Just then Neal entered the office and positioned himself against the window sill by Peter, facing Damon with his arms crossed.

Peter repeated his question to the boy.

"I… I…"

Since Neal was not allowed to talk to Damon, he asked Peter his questions. "Ask him about his game Peter."

Peter got the whole story out of Damon, with some help from Neal's prompts. He even got Neal's confession of detaining Damon in the restroom and his threats, hoping to deter the kid's actions.

When he was done, Neal prompted Peter with one more question. "Ask him what I told him would happen."

Peter looked at Neal quizzically and Neal cocked his head toward Damon. Peter asked. Damon fidgeted even worse, Peter re-asked the question.

"He… he said you would take a belt to me…"

Peter's eyebrows went up on that. Neal spoke again, "Ask him what else I said."

Peter just looked at Damon, waiting.

"He… he said he would have you add… add ten more for him…"

Peter looked at Neal in stupefaction. Mr. Non-corporal Punishment said that! Neal looked as serious as Peter had ever seen him as he nodded. Peter was a little pissed off Neal hadn't told him about Damon's game sooner, but he had thought his warning worked. But more important, he was surprised by Neal's active actions in trying to correct the boy. Maybe Neal was finally taking some interest in the boy's future…

Peter turned back to Damon. "I thought we already had a discussion about you stealing."

"But I didn't steal! I gave everything back!" Damon argued.

Peter cocked his head questionably. "What do you call what you were doing?"

"It was just a game."

Peter sat back, "Damon, define the word 'steal'."

"'_To take or appropriate without right or leave and with intent to keep or make use of wrongfully'_. See I had no intent to keep or use, so it doesn't qualify."

"And that's according to…?"

"Merriam Webster."

"Why don't you try the legal definition Damon? What's that?"

Damon switched weight from one foot to the other, stalling for time.

"Damon."

He sighed, "_'The wrongful or willful taking of money or property belonging to someone else with intent to deprive the owner of its use or benefit either temporarily or permanently'_."*

"So, did you steal Damon?"

Damon still did not want to concede to the idea. He was just playing a game.

Neal spoke up. "Perhaps I have given him the wrong idea Peter. He has seen me sometimes lift your wallet in fun. But I have always handed it back, not snuck it back. But I know you will not send me back to prison over it." Peter cocked his eyebrows at that remark. "Well, I hope not. But if I were to do the same thing with say Hughes or Ruiz, there is no doubt in my mind they would send me back. It is a crime, whether I was just playing or not."

"So what are you saying Neal, I should go easy on him because he saw you doing the same thing."

Neal shook his head, "No. No Peter, maybe that's why he started his little game, but I warned him. My counsel affected him enough to quit stealing while I was around. He knew it was wrong, and he was warned."

Damon got his hopes up for just a minute until he heard Neal make that last statement.

Peter turned back to Damon. "Damon go wait in the conference room."

Damon swallowed. That was new. The conference room was private, sound proof, and he did not want to go there. When Peter restated the order as an absolute, he reluctantly turned and left the office.

Once alone, Peter addressed Neal, "Neal, your ten will be administered here. Would you like to carry them out? I'm sure I can talk Reese into allowing this contact between you two."

Not surprisingly, Neal's eyes opened wide as his face paled, "Who me? No! No Peter. I… I can't do it. Nooo Peter. He's your son, your responsibility." He kept shaking his head to emphasis the negation.

Peter could not help but smile a little at Neal's reaction. He might be developing an interest in helping with Damon's misconduct, but he was not ready to be a father. At least, not the father of a half-grown child like Damon. Maybe if he started with a younger one he could grow up with…

"OK, Neal, I understand. Trust me; I know it's hard enough to do even if you believe in corporal punishment. Will you at least be in the room?"

Neal continued shaking his head. "No Peter. Nope, no, nodda."

Peter fiddled with his pen a minute. "Neal I want you in the observation room. You don't have to watch. You don't even have to have the sound on. But I want you in there."

Neal continued shaking his head.

"Neal, this is not a request. I need Damon to know this session will be from you. I need to be able to tell him you are in that room. You will be in there."

Neal almost moaned, "Yes Peter."

***WC***

Damon waited in the conference room pacing. He remembered the last time he was in there he was also pacing, unsure of his future. Now he was sure of his future, well the immediate one anyway, and he did not like it. He wondered what was taking them so long, how long he would have to wait…

The door opened and it was all he could do to not jump. It was too soon, he wanted more time, why were they rushing this…

He watched Agent Burke enter the room, determination written on his face. Damon wanted to run, wanted to argue, even wanted to scream, but he was a man and he faced Peter, hoping his fear didn't show.

"Damon, I am going to administer Neal's sentence here, where he can insure his wishes are carried out."

Damon looked back toward the door, looking for Neal.

"No Damon, he is in the observation room."

"But why can't he do it himself?" Damon would prefer that, he knew Neal would not use much force if any.

Peter didn't bother to answer, he just tilted his head with his 'why do you think?' look. Damon glanced toward the one-way window, feeling Neal's eyes on him. He refused to let Neal see him cower. But Neal was not watching. He had taken some work into the room with him and refused to look at the window. He would remain in the room until Peter told him he was allowed to leave, because he refused to look even to see if it was over.

"Do you understand why Neal wants you to receive this spanking?"

_Spanking!_ Damon hated that word, it was a kids' thing! "Because… because I didn't listen to him?"

"It's more than that Damon. Why?"

Damon swallowed; _what the heck? Why did it matter why?_ It wasn't going to make a difference what he thought; he was still going to get his ass beat. "Because I picked people's pockets?"

"What's that called Damon?"

Damon took a deep breath; that word got him in trouble, he didn't like using it. "Stealing…"

"Stealing. Remember that Damon. Now, you have given two reasons, but still not the main reason."

Damon was restless, damn why couldn't he just do it before he lost his nerve? What did he want him to say? "I… I don't know…"

Peter heaved a sigh, "Did you ever consider the fact that he does not want you sent to juvenile? That he does not want you to follow in his footsteps? That he wants a better life for you? That he wants to remain a part of your life, and if you're sent away, he might not be able to? And that he loves you? Did you ever think about that Damon?"

The tears were starting to come now; Damon hadn't considered any of the things Peter had said.

"Now Damon, I am going to ask you again. Why are you getting this spanking?"

Damon had trouble responding, "So… so I learn not to mess up anymore… and… and be sent away…"

Peter decided he had the basic idea; some words were just hard for him to say… yet. "Bend over the table please."

Damon turned around to the table and looked at it, once he bent over his ass would be a prime target, he hesitated a bit and then bent over, placing his hands on the table, and glancing up at the window just a second, hoping Neal didn't see him cry. Peter took off his belt, stepped in position beside him, placed his left hand on his back to steady him, and swung…

"F**k!" Damon bent his elbows to drop away from Peter's hand, slid sideways and stood up straight. "Son of a b**ch! That mother f**king hurt!" He covered his backside with his hands both to rub and protect it from further abuse.

Peter shook his head at the flow of cuss words coming from the boy's mouth. "Damon, now that one doesn't count. You negated it with your cussing."

"What am I supposed to say? It hurt! I can't just say nothing!"

"A simple oww would keep you out of trouble. Now bend back over."

"Sissies say oww!" Damon didn't want to submit.

As stern as he could possibly sound, Peter responded, "I said oww, and similar expletives, now bend back over, I do not want to force you into position."

Unwillingly Damon bent back over, but this time Peter pushed him down to his elbows. Damon gave in and buried his head in his arms, the hand on his back firmly insuring he would not get away again.

Peter swung the belt ten more times, each time Damon unable to remain silent, but he did learn to use oww, yeoww, and similar yelps of pain muffled into his arms.

When it was over, Peter stood the boy up and held him. As usual, Damon tried to push him away, but as usual, he failed. He did not feel like a man right then, he felt like a child and inwardly wanted to be held like one as he finally gave in and allowed Peter to comfort him.

He and Neal refused to look at each other afterwards, each for their own reasons. Damon because he had broken down and cried in front of Neal; he believed Neal had watched; and Neal because… Because even though Neal stood by his decision, he was not willing to face it.

***WC***

That evening, Damon was able to sit and eat, albeit somewhat uncomfortably, and after the meal and cleanup, Peter instructed him to go upstairs, get ready for bed, and wait for him.

Damon's face fell. "But… but you already punished me!"

"No Damon. Neal did through me. Now we need to address our issues." Peter explained carefully.

Damon knew that. He knew that! But he had so hoped he was wrong… "But… but…"

"Damon, do as you are told."

El gave him an unusually long good night hug. "I wish you would quit being so hard-headed and listen to your father. We love you so much Damon."

Damon didn't really think so right then. Well, he never truly believed it anyway. As he turned to go upstairs he decided he was going to sleep in his sweats that night, they were thicker. He only made it up a couple of steps before Peter called out,

"Damon, make sure you wear your regular pajamas. If I come up there and find you wearing something else, say sweats, I will make you drop them and use my belt on your bare bottom."

Damon almost ran up the stairs, _how does he know these things?_ It never occurred to him that Peter knew because he had tried a few tricks himself when he was younger and they never worked for him either.

***WC***

Peter trudged up the stairs; he really did not want to do this again. He wished Neal had the cojones to take care of his own call. No, he really didn't. If Neal did, then he also might want to raise Damon himself. No, he was glad Neal wasn't ready to be a father; Damon was a special gift Neal had given them. He exhaled, his special gift came with faults and it was his job to correct them. He entered Damon's room.

Damon was sitting on the bed petting the dog. He jumped up and moved to the back of the room as soon as Peter entered. Peter commanded the ever obedient dog to go downstairs and he shut the door. He sat on the bed and asked Damon to join him. Damon moved to a standing position on the wall in front of him instead.

Déjà vu.

"Son, do you understand why I am going to spank you again?"

Damon shook his head no.

"There are several reasons Damon. One: that was Neal's punishment. If it were just mine I would do it here at home, but since that one was on him, it needed to be taken care of where he could witness it. I did not add mine to Neal's at the time because I thought ten was enough when you still had to work and function around people." Damon started to argue, Peter held up his hand to silence him. "The eleventh one was on you Damon." Damon swallowed, that was going to be his argument.

"Two: Let's just say, theoretically, that Neal had delivered his own punishment, and not me. Or one of the other agents that are allowed to. I would still have a right, as your father, to add to their correction. It's just the same as if you were in school and got in trouble and punished, you would also receive discipline at home."

"Three: I do not think ten is enough for this offense. We already discussed your stealing before and it did not seem to deter you, so I would not stop at ten." Again he saw Damon wanting to retort. "Yes, you returned the items this time, but as we discussed earlier, you are still guilty of stealing. Again."

"And number four, the most important reason. I do not want to lose you again Damon. El does not want to lose you. Neal does not want to lose you. This house was empty without you. Stealing for whatever reason could cause a revocation of your probation. That added to all of your previous crimes will probably keep you in juvenile detention until you are eighteen." He took a deep breath. "I will do everything in my power to prevent that. If it takes recalling a blazing backside to make you remember not to steal, then so be it."

"Do you understand what I am saying?" Damon nodded.

"Are there any questions?"

"How… how many…?" Damon had heard him say ten was not enough, and Neal said to add his on top of Peter's. He expected at least another fifteen if not twenty licks.

"Ten."

Damon was surprised, "But you said…"

"I know what I said Damon. Ten is enough. Unless you cuss again."

Damon had tears in the corner of his eyes as he walked over to the table and stood ready. "Here?"

Peter nodded and Damon bent over the table. Peter stood up, pulled off his belt again and placed his left hand on Damon's back gently pushing him down until his head was cradled in his arms. "Now, why are you getting this spanking Damon?"

"Because for some unknown reason you don't want me to be taken away and if I break the law I will be."

Peter jerked Damon back to a standing position and grabbed his chin with his free hand to insure eye contact, in his frantic need to be understood, his actions were almost painful. "The_ reason_ is because we love you Damon and because we want to adopt you. El and I want you to be… no, you _are_ our son. That is the_ reason_ Damon." He saw the disbelief in the boy's eyes and embraced him. "When are you going to believe us son?"

They stood that way for a while, Peter willing Damon to believe. Damon was the first to break the hug and pull back. Looking at Peter, Damon saw his resolve had weakened while his own had strengthened.

"Sir, if all you said tonight is true, you have to finish it." Damon could not believe what he had just said.

Peter looked confused a second before he realized what the boy was talking about. For a second it felt like vertigo with the reversed roles and then he got his own resolve back. He wasn't quite ready to speak and nodded his head instead.

Damon had never seen Peter falter before and it somewhat unsettled him. All the times he challenged him, fought him, defied him, he had always seen the rock solid Peter and just now realized it was comforting to know him that way. He needed that Peter. "Sir, you have to do it right." Again, he did not understand why he would say that.

Peter looked more scared than Damon as the boy turned back to the table and bent over, cradling his head in his arms. Peter again placed his left hand on his back. Damon felt the first smack and did not believe it was as hard as earlier that day…

Peter mentally shook his head to clear it. The boy had said 'if what he said was true', and 'he had to do it right'. Everything he said was true and the kid had to believe him. He had to finish. He shut his eyes a second and reset his determination. He placed his hand on Damon's back and laid the first blow. No, he had held back. The kid said to do it right. He steeled his nerve, held Damon in place more firmly and laid the next nine swats in various strategic spots on the boy's rump.

Damon managed not to cuss, but did have some tooth marks in his arm were he had stifled his vocal response. Maybe the first one was weaker, but the other nine more than made up for it. His backend was blazing as Agent Burke had promised.

Peter helped him stand back up and Damon did not push him away as he held him. Peter guided the boy to bed and covered him up, and then sat beside him a while comforting him. "Shhh, it's over Damon. We start fresh tomorrow, okay?"

Damon nodded his head; he didn't trust his own voice not to crack if he spoke. Peter leaned over to kiss him goodnight on his head. "I love you Damon."

Damon almost believed him, but still could not understand why they would love him.

***WC***

AN: *From The 'Lectric Law Library,

##### If you want a happy ending it depends on where you stop the story. 'Till the next chapter #####


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her and Colakirk's encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**Warning**: ** Discipline of a juvenile delinquent is used. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional series...

**DAMON III** **(15)**

The next morning when Damon reported to Hughes, Hughes had his own views on his relapse.

"I see you couldn't resist temptation boy and resumed your old habits. I knew you'd mess up sooner or later. I hope Peter gave you a lesson you won't forget?"

"I hope not Sir." Damon responded.

That was not exactly the response Hughes had expected. "How many licks did he give you boy?"

"Twenty Sir."

Hughes knew he had gotten an extra one for cussing, but the boy had learned not to add the extra. "Good. But you do understand that I, as supervisory agent on your probation, have a right to add to Peter's punishment?"

Damon's hand subconsciously rubbed his sore backside, he didn't know how much more he could take, but Agent Burke had made it clear he didn't want him to be sent away. He would have to endure more… "Y… yes Sir…"

Hughes saw the boy's reaction and he knew what the boy was thinking. He also saw the boy's acceptance in his eyes. Maybe he was salvageable…

"Now, I want you to go sit at your desk, and I do mean sit, and write 'I will not steal' five hundred times. Bring it back to me when you finish."

Damon cringed when he heard 'sit', but it was so much better than what he had expected. "Yes Sir!"

"And make sure it's legible. Get busy boy."

Damon left and carefully sat at his desk. He squirmed constantly trying to ease the pain. He wondered if Peter had purposely wacked him in such a way so sitting would be this uncomfortable. He started writing over and over and over again, 'I will not steal', wishing with his memory, this constant repetition would work.

***WC***

That weekend was the second paint party.

Damon had been a little worried that this one wouldn't be as fun after his relapse, as Hughes had called it, but the Burke's hadn't treated him any different since then. It was like he had served his sentence and was forgiven. He did not understand the concept. He also was not aware that another chunk of the wall he had so carefully built around himself had fallen.

He mixed the light grey paint with some black to make a medium grey color. Peter had looked at the new mix doubtfully, "Are you sure you want this color Damon?"

"Yes Sir." Damon answered confidently.

Damon had to mix several batches to finish the room, each one slightly different in shades of grey.

When he and El and tried to have another paint war, Peter had frowned. "This is the main room. It has to be neat."

Damon had turned to him with a small smile. "It will be fine Sir. It won't hurt anything."

But Peter's disbelief helped curb their little war.

When they had finished, the walls were a flat almost battleship gray and motley with the various shades. Peter looked around and was really not pleased with the overall effect, it made the room too bleak and dark. "Is this what you wanted Damon?"

Damon looked at the room, content in what he saw in his head. He could visualize the finished product.

Damon gave Peter a half smile, "I'm not done yet. Now I want to do the rest on my own. Could you two please not come down until it's done? I'll do all the laundry so there will be no reason to come down here. I just need a few more supplies, if that's okay?"

Peter was still leery, "What kind of supplies?"

"Cheap two and one inch brushes and smaller ones too. Some cheap tin handle brushes would be perfect. Some chalk, more masking tape, and a package of disposable plastic cups with lids. I can write up a list."

Peter tilted his head quizzically, "What are you going to paint? A mural?"

Damon half laughed, "With black and blue paint? What am I going to paint a mural of? Of what my backside looks like when you're done working it over?" He had a mischievous grin now.

Peter hadn't seen that grin in a while and he didn't want to lose it, so he played along. He raised his eyebrows, "Well, I could always give you new patterns to work with." He had a menacing smile on his face.

Damon was in a rare mood, "You'd have to catch me first!" He took off.

The room was mostly empty, not much furniture to use to dodge Peter, and nothing to climb to scrabble out of reach, and he really didn't _want_ to get away…

Peter managed to block him in a corner and then grabbed him and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, legs secured with his right arm, left hand free to give a couple light smacks on Damon's upended rump. "You think you can get away from me, huh?"

Damon's head hung down Peter's back, he was gently pounding away with his fists, "Oww! Not fair! Oww! Not fair!"

Peter body slammed him onto the couch thinking that it had been a long time, too long, since they played like this… He attacked Damon's ribcage and belly with the old tickle torture.

Damon was laughing uncontrollably, "Stop! Stop! Not fair!"

Peter paused, "Give up?"

"No!"

Peter re-attacked.

"Stop! Stop! OK! I give up! Uncle! Uncle!" Damon tried to yell through his hilarity.

El was laughing at the pair. She relished the sound of Damon's bright clear laughter, something she hadn't heard in what seemed like ages. She did not want to be left out of the fun. She stood behind Peter, hands on hips and pretending anger. "What are you doing to my son?"

Peter turned around to the sound of her voice which gave Damon a chance to escape and run to hide behind El for protection. He pointed to Peter, "He's picking on me!"

Peter feigned innocence, "He started it!"

El turned to Damon, "Oh, my poor boy…" Any chance to get a genuine hug out of him…

As they hugged each other, Damon peered over El's shoulder and stuck his tongue out at Peter giving him a silent raspberry. Peter mouthed back, _'I'll get you…'_

"Ma'am… He's threatening me…" Damon stuck his tongue out at Peter again.

El turned to Peter, "You ought to be ashamed!" She tried to say through her laughter. She turned back to Damon. "Do you want some cookies and milk?"

"Yes Ma'am!"

Peter acted wounded, "What about me?"

"There are some dishes that need washing."

They all went upstairs smiling and laughing at the rare moment.

***WC***

Damon finished his seventh report which was actually his last robbery, the one at the Museum of Natural History where he stole the gold Inca statue. He had been pretty fond of that one. He tried to remember the feel of the gold under his fingers. He tried to bring back the feel of the rush…

***WC***

Peter stood up to welcome the Met's director and CEO into his office. "Tom, how are you doing? Have a seat." Peter and Tom have had an on again off again relationship over the last several years, considering their jobs. Unfortunately, usually when they got together, it was because of a theft, or an attempted theft of the city's most prestigious art museum.

Thomas Watson sat in the indicated chair, "I'm doing fine, under the circumstances, Peter. Let me get right to the point. You told me over the phone that you have no new leads on the stolen Rembrandt collection, but I felt I needed to talk to you in person."

"Always willing to be of service Tom, may I get you some coffee first?"

"Yes, that would be nice. Two creams, one sugar, please."

Peter stepped out the door to see who was available to run the errand. He saw Damon standing in the coffee area looking bored, and asked him to undertake the task, and then returned to his office and sat down at his desk. "Now, what can I do for you, Tom?"

"Peter, you say you have no leads on this latest theft, and I can't help but think it's the same offender who swapped those forgeries recently."

"Now Tom, I told you that one was caught, we discussed this…"

"Yes, and you sure are secretive about the thief. How do you know he didn't do this one too? You still haven't told me how he circumvented our security system. What are you trying to cover Peter?"

"We know Tom that he didn't do it."

"Peter we go a long ways back and you have never withheld information from me before. How do you know? Was it your criminal consultant? Are you trying to protect him? Peter, I have a right to know!"

Peter studied the man for a few minutes. Tom was right, he had always been forthcoming with him, and he could trust Tom to remain silent. But was it the right thing to do? Just then, Damon knocked with the coffee.

"Come in Damon."

Damon politely offered the stranger the coffee, "Here's your coffee Sir. I hope I made it right for you." And then he looked at the man's face. He froze in shock. It was the gentleman he had stolen a wallet from and returned, the one who had helped him into a cab… "S… Sir."

Tom smiled in recognition, "Aww! I see you survived your injuries alright. How are you doing boy? I haven't seen you around in quite a while."

"I… I…"

Peter looked from one to the other in total perplexity, "You know each other?"

Tom laughed, "Yes, this kind lad once returned my wallet after I had dropped it!"

Peter watched Damon turn pale. "Is this the first one, Damon?"

Damon swallowed, trying to control his voice. "Y… yes Sir. He also paid for my cab ride home the day I… I got beat up…"

Peter cocked his head, "You never mentioned that before."

Tom could see the tension, and had no idea why, "Oh, it was nothing. It was the least I could do. I had a lot of money in my wallet that day, I usually don't carry so much, but he returned all of it, didn't even stay around to collect a reward! It was the least I could do by putting him in a cab, he could hardly walk. He tried to refuse, wouldn't give me an address to send the cab to." He chuckled at the memory.

Peter sighed, "Maybe I should introduce you two… Damon, I would like you to meet Thomas Watson, Director and CEO of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Tom, meet Damon."

Damon's throat locked up completely. Director of the Met! He had stolen from this man again! First his wallet and then from his gallery; not once but twice. He couldn't face him, couldn't…

"Damon…" Peter watched the boy pale with guilt, maybe this would be good for him, meet the victim.

Tom also saw the kid's reaction, "Boy, you look faint. Maybe you should sit down. Here, take my seat."

"N… no. I… can't…" Damon could not accept kindness again from this man, his victim.

Peter got up to get another chair for the boy, "Damon, sit down." He had some water on his desk and offered it to him.

"Tom, can I trust you? Can I trust you to remain silent with the information I am about to give you?"

Tom was still concerned with the boy but turned to Peter. "Of course you can trust me Peter. But this child…"

Peter exhaled, "This child… Do you want to tell him, or do I Damon?"

Damon desperately looked at the gentleman, the kind gentleman who had never done anything but good for him and he… "I… I'm sorry Sir! I'm so sorry! I didn't know it was you… I'm sorry…" He couldn't stop the tears that started.

"Damon, do you want to leave while I tell him?"

Damon hung his head, "Y… yes Sir…" He got up and left the room, straight to the men's room, to hide, to cry, and to regain control.

Peter turned to Tom, "Tom, I do believe you have gotten a false impression of our resident juvenile delinquent…"

He proceeded to explain Damon's less than honest nature to the man, starting with the wallet, and ending with the van Gogh, but Tom did not truly believe him, this kid, no kid, could enter his gallery in such a clandestine professional manner.

"Would you like to question him Tom? I see he's got himself back under control."

Tom sat up and looked down at the bullpen to the boy, "Yes, I would. There is no way…"

Peter rose and walked to the door. Damon heard, he didn't want to, but he heard the door open and looked up. He saw Peter motion for him. He took a deep breath and slowly walked up to the office.

"Yes Sir?"

Tom took over, "Boy, come here."

Damon went and stood in front of him. He didn't want to look at him, didn't want to face him, but Hughes had taught him and he slowly lifted his head to face his victim.

"You stole my wallet?"

Damon somehow kept his head up, "Yes Sir."

"And you broke into my museum, not once but twice, and stole from me?"

Damon really tried to control the shaking, "Yes Sir."

Tom studied the boy. He was too scared to be lying. He could see the truth in the boy's eyes. "Where did you get the forgeries from?"

"I… I painted them."

Tom had accused, actually believed that Peter was protecting his consultant on this one, he couldn't resist, "Well, I knew they were not quite up to Caffrey's standards. Close, but not quite… You didn't do a very good at job aging them."

"I… I didn't have the right equipment."

That made both men look at Damon.

"How did you do it? How did you get through my security? The FBI won't tell me."

"I… I haven't written that report yet."

Tom looked at Peter questioningly, and Peter explained the report writing of the crimes.

"Crimes, you mean more than just the Met?"

"Y… yes Sir."

He turned to Peter, "I want a copy of the Met reports once he completes them."

"Will do, Tom."

Tom turned back to Damon, "You do understand that I will have to bar you from the Met?"

"I already am Sir."

"Good." He paused, "Why son? Why? With your obvious talents, why would you throw it all away? You're so young."

Damon fidgeted, he had no answer. Tom waved his hand in dismissal; he had nothing more to say to the boy.

Peter spoke up, "You may go, Damon."

Damon wanted to run, to flee, but he had learned control in Hughes office, he turned and left the room.

Peter addressed Tom again, "We have an agreement Tom. He's a juvenile and his records will be expunged once he completes probation. I do not want his name thrown out there."

"Not a problem Peter. I think he's savable, and I think if anyone can do it, you can. Do you mind if we keep in touch on his progress? I'm curious to know how he does. And if he doesn't shape up, I think I have a right to know that he's lose in the world again."

Peter chuckled, "Not a problem Tom. And let's hope he does straighten up or he'll make both our jobs miserable."

The men said their goodbyes and Tom left the office. He watched Damon as he walked by the bullpen, knowing he should dislike him, but something about the boy…

"Hey Tom, how are you doing?"

Tom saw the infamous Neal Caffrey flashing him his super-innocent smile with his hand out ready to shake his. He hated the young con using his first name, and did not really want to shake his hand, but he was a gentleman, and… he sighed, it was hard to resist his charms. He shook hands.

"Fine Mr. Caffrey, and you?"

"Walking the straight and narrow. Tom, I've asked you a dozen times to call me Neal."

_Then you should be getting the hint by now_. "That's good to know, Mr. Caffrey. Have a good day."

As he walked out the door, he glanced back at the boy. Neal and the boy were both in that glance and he saw the resemblance. _Could they be…?_ He would have to ask Peter about that next time they spoke.

***WC***

##### "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story." Orson Welles. 'Till the next chapter. Neal Caffrey #####


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her and Colakirk's encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**Warning**: ** Discipline of a juvenile delinquent is used . If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional series...

**DAMON III** **(16)**

By the end of Damon's second month of confinement, things were running a lot smoother. Damon's wall was slowly crumbling; he was smiling more and sometimes even laughing. The reasons for this fell under many categories. Damon had passed the halfway mark. It is a normal for a prisoner to reach the halfway point and realize if he could survive the first half, he could survive all the way. He was also starting to realize that maybe he really was wanted. He still did not understand why, but the knowledge was a healing property.

Also, there was the basement. The Burkes limited his time in the basement, but when he was allowed to disappear down there, he came back happy. Whatever he was doing, it was appealing to the artistic nature in him, and it had a pleasing, calming effect on him. He did ask for some medium brown paint and just a tiny bit of red to finish his project. When Peter frowned, Damon re-assured him that if he didn't like it, he would re-paint in the color of his choice. Peter gave in. Whatever Damon was doing down there, made him happy.

Agent Hughes had changed Damon's daily morning reporting to twice a week, Monday and Thursday. Damon had finished seven of his reports, but was stuck on reporting the robberies of the Met. Hughes informed him that he would not be released from house arrest until all reports were turned in.

Also, since his information on the bank heists had led to an arrest, confession and conviction of a major corporation accountant from Chicago, he was allowed free reign in the cold case files. Two other unsolved cases were resolved because of his insights, and several more were in-progress due to his analysis. Once he realized he really was helping the FBI, it helped to re-build his self -esteem.

Damon also ran errands for the agents. He enjoyed the opportunity, and they enjoyed his willingness to help. He slowly became part of the White Collar team.

He did still often wake in the dead of the night. He still longed to feel the thrill of defeating a complicated security system. On some of those nights he would draw sketches of various crime scenes, his and the ones he read about, and yearn to be there. On other nights he would punch the bag a few times to release the tension. Always on those nights, he hated the tracking anklet that denied him his freedom. He often kicked it against something hoping someday it would just fall off. His ankle always sported bruises. But he was careful to never stay up too long; he did not want to go back on the sleeping pill.

***WC***

Damon sensed someone stopping by his desk and looked up, "Spence!"

The young BAU agent looked down on Damon, "How are you Damon?"

"Fine. What are you doing here?" He hadn't seen Spence in well over a year, and had missed their internet chess games together.

Spencer shrugged, "We had a case in New York. Now that's its finished, I thought I'd come by and say hi. I thought maybe we could step out for lunch together."

Damon's spirits fell as he remembered his situation. He dropped his head, "I… I can't. I have to stay here." He didn't want to admit to Spencer why.

"I know. I'll go talk to Peter and see what I can do."

"You know?"

"Of course Damon. Remember, I am an agent and there was a manhunt out for you. I've kept track."

Damon reddened at the realization. "Oh…"

"I'm going to see Peter." Spencer started to head away.

Damon stopped him. "It's not Agent Burke's call. Agent Hughes is in charge, and he's not going to let me out of here."

Spencer winked, "We'll see."

Damon watched him go into Peter's office and then shortly, both he and Peter went into Hughes office. Damon went back to work, he knew better than to get his hopes up. Hughes was hard core and non-bending.

After a while, Spencer reappeared beside his desk. "Let's go."

Damon didn't want to insult his friend, "I told you, I can't…" He looked up toward Peter's office and Peter waved for him to go. He looked toward Hughes office and didn't see him. He was not going to violate his probation, and he knew Hughes… Suddenly, Hughes popped his head out his door and indicated Damon needed to get out of there. Damon sat still, shocked.

Spencer laughed, "Well, are you coming or what?"

That got Damon moving, he jumped up to follow Reid, but before he could step out the door, he looked back one more time. Hughes had again disappeared behind his desk, but Peter was still standing there and gave him a reassuring nod.

As they stepped into the elevator, Damon could not believe what was going on, "How did you manage that?"

Spencer snickered, "You forget what I am Damon."

Yes, Damon often did forget who and what Spencer was. To Damon, he was a friend. He laughed, "What did you do, con them with your psycho babble?"

Spencer studied him, "It wasn't a con."

They went to a quiet cafe nearby and Damon requested they sit outside. It felt good to be out and he wanted to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine while he could.

They talked general talk for a while, mostly Damon asking Spencer about the case they had just wrapped up, but also Damon talking about his basement project and his reports. But once the reports came up, Damon hesitated, "Spence, does your brain ever… I mean does it…" He didn't know how to ask the question.

Spencer raised his eyebrows, "My brain often does things that shock me. What are you referring to?"

"At the Met... At the Met something weird happened and I have to write a report, and I don't know how to explain it…"

That got Spencer's curiosity up, "What happened at the Met? Tell me."

Damon was still hesitant, Spencer was the only one who might understand, but what if it didn't happen to him? That would make Damon look crazy… "Do you ever feel like your brain has taken off… started working… like you're not in control anymore." He looked up quickly, "Not like a separate personality, not like a schizoid or something." He didn't want Spence to think he was crazy, it wasn't like that. "It just takes off on its own tangent, calculating, analyzing, computing, but not where you directed it…" okay, he thought, that did sound crazy.

Reid remembered back to the time they were looking for the arsonist on a college campus, the one that worked in threes. They had no leads and he was working late, by himself, still coming up with blanks. Until he had let his mind open to all possibilities without his personal input or restrictions. Yes, his mind had 'taken off' on his own tangent and came up with the 'three' evaluation that lead them to the suspect and solved the case, in the process saving three innocent lives.

"Yes Damon. I know what you're talking about. Tell me what happened with you."

Damon decided the only way to tell it was straight up. "I was in the Met." He looked up again, "I guess you know what I've done, right?"

Spencer frowned, "Yes Damon. I know about your life of crime. Now tell me, you've got me curious."

Damon sighed, that's what happens when all your friends are FBI. "Okay. I was in the Met and progressing according to plan. I mean it was smooth. Suddenly something told me to stop, to freeze, not words but a feeling that I had too. It was like my brain was screaming a warning that I didn't understand. I keep getting a feeling of 'tripwire' which made no sense; I had detected no laser beam tripwires at that entrance when I cased the Met. I looked around to where by brain said it would be, lowered down to the floor, and sure enough, there it was. I kind of let myself step back then and let my brain take over. That doesn't sound right, but yeah, kind of. I quit telling myself what to think. It was kind of like a computer in my head, analyzing, calculating, computing all possibilities and probabilities and I just followed its lead. I… it found a couple other security features I had missed. I would have been busted big time if that hadn't happened!"

Damon paused, watching Spencer, waiting for some sign to say he was cracked.

While Damon told his story Spencer watched his eyes light up with the memory of the thrill. But Spencer did not think he was crazy because of the Met experience, his own brain had scared him a few times growing up. "Is that the only time that happened?"

"Well, yes and no. The only time it happened to that degree. The only time I stepped back and let it take over."

Spencer laughed, "I like the way you call it stepping back. I call it closing off my preconceived ideas and emotions and letting the computer calculate."

"Then I'm not crazy. It's happened to you?"

Spencer nodded slowly, "Yes Damon, I try to do it deliberately when I'm stuck on a particularly tough case. Everyone does to a degree. But with people like you and me, with computers in our heads, it's more pronounced."

Damon was relieved. "So how do I explain that in my report? Agent Hughes will think I'm crazy."

"Explain it just the way you told me. It'll be okay. How else can you explain it?"

They sat in silence for a while, each thinking their own thoughts. Finally Spencer spoke up again. "Tell me Damon, how are you holding up?"

"Stir-crazy, bored, I hate this thing." He indicated the anklet.

"Why do you hate it?"

"Because it limits me. It controls me. It cuts off my freedom."

"Freedom to do what?"

"To do whatever! I can't do anything while this is on!"

"Damon, I saw your eyes light up while you were talking about the Met. If that was off, don't tell me you wouldn't go rob someplace again."

Damon looked at Spence, why he couldn't lie to him, he didn't know. "Yes."

"And then you would be locked up. Is that what you really want?"

"No. But I…"

Spencer leaned in, "And before they catch you, you would be living on your own again. Tell me Damon, how many friends did you make during your six months on your own?"

"Friends? Well, there was Jake…"

"And?"

Damon had a nodding acquaintance with a few guys, even knew a couple by name; Toes and Hammer. He thought about it, he didn't even know their real names, and they called him Kid. No, he didn't make friends on his own, he never made friends…

"I don't need friends."

Spence lifted his eyebrows.

"Okay, I like having you and Neal as friends. And some of the agents here are kinda friends." He laughed at himself. "Yeah, I like having friends, but I'm very picky, and the people I like, with the exception of Neal, don't like criminals."

"So, back to my question. Why do you hate the anklet?"

"I told you!"

"Because it stops you from stealing so you can live basically by yourself and alienating the few friends you have?"

Damon stared at him, "What are your trying to get at…?"

"Do you really want to live a life of crime?"

"No… not really… But it's hard, you have no idea how it is…"

"I'm glad I don't by what I saw in your eyes!" Spencer laughed. He waited a minute and then went on, "Instead of looking at the anklet as a leash, maybe you should start looking at it as your protector."

"Huh…?"

"They did not put that thing on you to punish you. They put it on because they care, because they don't want you to live life alone and on the run or in prison. It is to help you learn control. It is to protect you from yourself. Once you are released from house arrest, that anklet will be the only thing stopping you from giving in to temptation. You are just like an addict, Damon, and you cannot kick the habit on your own. Think of that anklet as your best friend."

Damon considered his words. He hated the anklet, if it wasn't for it, he'd already be long gone! Alone… with no chance of turning back… "I… I'll think about it…"

They let a few minutes pass in silence. "Is that why they let you take me out? To make me toe the line?"

"Not to make you toe the line, that is up to you Damon. I convinced them that you needed someone outside the office to talk to."

"And you have to report back to them, don't you? That's the agreement, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell them everything?"

"Not what we talked about as friends. I'll only tell them what they need to know."

"Like what?"

Spencer sat and watched Damon some more.

"OK, Okay, I get it. You can't tell me, doctor evaluation and shit. Sorry I asked."

"I don't think you're supposed to use that word…"

Now Damon had to laugh. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't rat me out on me on that one!"

They both laughed and then continued with small talk a while longer.

Spencer looked at his watch. "I have to get you back, or we'll both be on the shit list."

"Spence, you cussed!" Damon snickered.

"Yeah, don't rat me out." He stood up. "Let's go."

Damon was in a much better mood on the way back to the office. He just had to get a little cocky,

"You know Spence, Agent Hughes let me out with you because you are a psycho and an agent. I bet he doesn't realize how quickly I could lift that gun from you, and you know I can use it better than you!"

Spencer grimaced at him, "Well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't inform Hughes of those little details. Deal?

Damon laughed, "Deal!"

When they got back to the offices, Damon was still in high spirits. He watched Spencer go up and report to Peter and Hughes, and that sobered him a little, but he still felt good. He had written the Met report up to the tripwire point where he had stalled out, and now he sat down to work on it while it was still fresh in his memory.

***WC***

##### "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story." Orson Welles. 'Till the next chapter. Neal Caffrey #####


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**Spoilers: **Several quotes, and misquotes from Neal and Moz in first half of 3rd season.

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her and Colakirk's encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**Warning**: ** Discipline of a juvenile delinquent is used. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional series...

**DAMON III** (17)

When Spencer came back down stairs and was heading out the doors, he called to Damon, "See ya later!"

Damon was confused, "What?"

"Peter and his wife invited all of us over for dinner." He stated as he left.

Damon sat stunned for a moment. The BAU team was coming for dinner? Company? He glanced up a Peter and he looked back smiling.

Damon sat back and thought a while. He really liked the BAU team. He had had contact with them a couple times after that initial interview. He even liked Agent Hotchner, in spite of his eyes. But he so wanted Neal to meet them, and he wanted them to meet Neal. He glance Neal's way, he was studying some files on his desk, and wondered…

He glanced up at Hughes office. He was afraid of Hughes, but not scared of him. He did not realize that he was less afraid of Hughes than most of the agents in the office; it would have surprised him to know that. The difference was, while the agents were trying to impress Hughes to get on his good side, Damon had long ago accepted that he could never impress him, never get on his good side, and for him, that was a comfortable place to be. He also did not understand that it was that attitude that did impress Hughes.

Damon took a deep breath and went to Hughes office, he knocked once and waited.

Hughes looked up at the sound of the knock and saw the boy standing there. He did not see a report in the kid's hand. Never before had the kid come to his office unless for a required report time or to deliver a report. He hoped the boy wasn't getting uppity because he had let him have lunch with the BAU agent.

"Get in here."

Damon went to his spot in front of the desk, "Sir…?"

"What boy?"

Now that Damon was there, his nerve was failing him. "Sir… I, ah…"

Hughes observed the kid and wondered if he was going to bolt and run. "Spit it out boy."

"Sir, I have been good…" He remembered the pickpocketing debacle, "Well, mostly good, and Neal has helped solve several crimes and I was wondering if…" He decided this was a really bad idea.

"Go on boy."

"Well Sir, the BAU is coming over for dinner and I… I…" He sucked in a deep breath and then spit it out rapidly. "I was wondering if Neal could come over for dinner. I promise we won't talk about my crimes or any crimes and I will be good and never be alone with him and we'll be surrounded by agents and…" He realized he was starting to ramble and shut up.

Hughes held up his hand to stop him before he lost all coherency. "Go, and send Burke in here."

Damon realized he had screwed that up miserably and tried to blink the tears out of his eyes. "Yes Sir."

Damon passed the message and went back to his desk feeling miserable, and then chided himself. They had company coming over for dinner, he should be feeling good. He saw Peter call Neal up to Hughes office. Great. Now Neal was going to get chewed out for his screw up. He disappeared into the cold case file room.

***WC***

Peter had to find Damon at the end of the day. He had lost track of time once he started reading the files. Damon looked for Neal on the way out to mouth an apology to him, but Neal was nowhere to be seen.

Once he got home and started helping El get ready for company, his excitement returned. He had been stuck for over two months with the same old faces, and with the exception of Diana's girlfriend Christie, who had come over a couple times while he was taking the sleeping pills to ensure there were no ill effects, they had not had any new faces in their home since his return. He helped Peter put in the dining room table leaf to extend it, and got the extra two chairs from the basement so they could seat eight.

Soon the BAU team showed up, present were SA Spencer Reid, of course, SA Jason Gideon, SA Derek Morgan and SA Emily Prentiss. Hotchner had already left to go back to be with his family. Emily immediately went into the kitchen to start helping El and that freed Damon up to visit. Spencer and Damon jumped at the chance to play chess while the other three agents talked FBI.

Shortly after, the doorbell rang again, and Damon jumped up to answer it, only to open the door and see Neal. "You're… you're not supposed to be here." Damon left Neal standing in the open doorway and went to stand by Peter. He had a little less than a month left on his probation and did not want to screw it up now.

"Fine manners you have Damon!" Neal joshed as he finished letting himself in.

Damon looked up at Peter, "What is he doing here?"

Peter smiled down, "You invited him, remember?"

"But… but…"

"You asked Reese and he said yes. Remember, no talking about your crimes, and you are not allowed to be alone with him. Okay?"

Damon was still nervous. "I can talk to him?"

Peter laughed as he ruffled Damon's hair. "Yes Damon."

Then Damon was all smiles as he introduced the infamous Neal Caffrey to some of the toughest man-hunters in the country. Neal slipped smoothly into his most congenial mannerisms with the intention of impressing and subduing the shark in them.

Emily jabbed Derek in the ribs and whispered to him, "Why don't we get to go after unsubs like him… Maybe I should switch to white collar."

Derek chided back, "Look at him Em, he looks too delicate. You'd probably just break him."

Derek had to rub his arm where she punched it.

Neal had brought his own chess game, knowing how many people would be there, but only he, Spencer and Damon wanted to play. "Damon, why don't you play both of us?"

"What?"

"Play two games at once. Use your brain for something besides solving cold case files."

They talked Damon into the challenge, and while Damon concentrated on playing two games at the same time, Neal bragged to Spencer on Damon's expertise with the cold case files, which would have embarrassed Damon immensely, if he hadn't been so busy trying to match two chess wizards at once.

Damon lost both games, but claimed he was out of practice and never played that way before. He did enjoy the challenge, and thought he would get better if he did it more often. He didn't really care about the game that much right then anyway. He was with his two best friends, and he was happy.

Dinner was a festive experience. Elizabeth served Balsamic Dijon Chicken with Caesar Arugula Salad, Parmesan Pepper Bread, Braised Greens and Broccoli in Cheese Sauce. The BAU, most unused to getting home cooked meals, raved about the delectable meal.

Dialogue was kept to a polite dinner appropriate conversation, but the BAU team, being what they were, observed Damon and Neal continuously as they were criminals, and that is what they hunted. They observed that even though Damon and Neal were matching bookends, they were also polar opposites. Damon was totally open, clear and honest. He read like a book. But Neal hid behind a very carefully constructed wall. The wall may be very colorful and pleasing to look at, and entertaining beyond normal abilities, it was none the less, still a wall. Even the BAU asked the question that had stumped Peter for years, "Who was this person that called themself Neal Caffrey?"

After dinner, Spencer talked him into showing him the basement on the grounds that he never knew when he would be back, and if the Burke's didn't like it and he had to repaint it, then he would never see it. Neal tried the same trick, but was informed that in less than a month, he would be allowed to come back any time he wanted to.

Damon was all but finished with the basement and was a little worried about showing it to the Burkes. He was afraid they wouldn't like it, and an outside opinion would help. Spencer was sworn to secrecy and taken down into the dungeon. He loved it, which made Damon feel a lot better, and informed the Burkes if they made him repaint it, he would recommend a psych-eval on them.

After everyone had left and Damon went to bed, he lay awake a long time remembering the fantastic evening he had just had. When he woke that night and felt the need, he looked at his anklet and thought maybe; just maybe it wasn't a really bad thing.

***WC***

Neal was working on one of his numerous paintings to relax when Moz walked into the loft.

"Hey Moz." Neal greeted him as he finished up his work and started cleaning his brushes.

Moz walked over to the bottles of wine and selected one, bringing that and two glasses to the table. "We need to talk." He stated as he started pouring himself some wine and sat down.

Neal knew what he wanted to talk about; he had been getting pusher and pusher about leaving with the treasure. "I told you we take our time and do it right. We have to get the list before we can do anything."

Moz swirled the wine and then took a sip, enjoying the flavor. "I can't help but feel you are dragging your feet on this. You said 'wait until you find the mini-Neal'. You found him over two months ago, thanks to me, I might add." He took another drink. "Then you said to wait until you're sure the Suit still wants him. Neal, I'm pretty sure the Suit and Mrs. Suit intend on keeping him."

Neal finished with his brushes and sat down across from Moz, pouring a glass for himself. "Moz, I said I wanted to wait until the adoption was final. That way, there is no doubt that Damon will be taken care of."

"**You're thinking about staying, aren't you?"** Moz shot at him.

Neal twirled his wine glass. **"It's crossed my mind."**

Moz slumped, **"No. No, I don't wanna hear this."**

Neal pleaded with him, **"Nobody knows we have the treasure, Moz. We can live our lives."**

"**As closet billionaires? I don't think so."** Moz was desperate to convince Neal to leave. **"That's not how this works. The secret of the treasure is radioactive. A look here, a whisper there. It's too big, it can't be kept. Our future is lying in a vault right now, waiting for us. This is no time to be dropping anchor."**

Neal queried, **"No complications?"**

Moz affirmed, **"No complications."**

He saw the sad look in his friends face, **"You're gonna have to cut ties with** him **eventually. Our days here are numbered, providing we find a way to start selling off the art without alerting the Feds."** He paused and took another sip**. "I know how hard it is to give up everything. And I know your connection** to your son and the FBI, **but it's not who we are. When we do finally get to sell our art, we really have to remember that."**

"**Sometimes it's hard to say goodbye."** Neal stated sadly.

"To Damon, Peter or Sara? **Look, you know everything good must one day come to an end."**

Moz held up his glass in a toast in an attempt to cheer his friend up and win him back over, **"To our best and final score!"**

Neal toasted with him, but his heart wasn't in it.

***WC***

AN: sorry this took so long and is so short. Damon is being non-communicative with me lately, and I'm having a little trouble getting his story down.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her and Colakirk's encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**Warning**: ** Discipline of a juvenile delinquent is used. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional series...

**DAMON III** **(18)**

Damon was able to finish his last two reports rather quickly after Spencer's visit. He wrote the first Met report the way it happened, explaining the experience as best he could. The second Met report was almost identical, without the extra explanation, his first heist already taught him all he needed to know to smoothly pull off the second without incident.

When he turned in his last report, after reading the report, and the signing ritual was completed, Hughes leaned back in his chair and addressed him. "Boy, you have done better than I expected on your probation. I believe you are finally starting to understand the seriousness of your situation. Dr. Reid and his team gave me positive reports on your behavior both during your lunch break, and the evening visit."

Damon could not believe what he was hearing, was Hughes was complementing him?

"I have decided that in the offices and in the offices only," He stressed that point. "You and Neal will be allowed to communicate, but only in the presence of one of the disciplinary agents. The only time you will be allowed to talk about any case is if you are brain-storming on a mutual case." He pointed a finger at Damon, "At no time will you be allowed to talk to him about your crimes. Is that understood, boy?" Hughes watched the boy's face light up as he spoke.

"Yes Sir! We won't Sir! Thank you Sir!"

Hughes tried to remain stern, "I guess you can exchange simple greetings anywhere at any time, but any more than that you will obey my rules. Any questions boy?"

"No Sir. Thank you Sir. I really appreciate your kindness Sir."

_Kindness?_ Hughes huffed, no one had ever accused him of that before, "Get out of here boy!"

Damon went back to his desk wondering if that had been for real. Did the conversation with Hughes really happen? Did he imagine it? He watched as Hughes called Neal and the disciplinary team into his office for a quick meeting. When they emerged, Neal's smile was classic as he looked straight at Damon and said Hi.

***WC***

"Damon! Get up here; we want to talk to you!" Peter hollered down into the basement.

"Be right there Sir!" Damon responded. As he put up the paint and cleaned his brushes he tried to think about what he was in trouble for now. What did Agent Burke know? He thought about the dead spider he had found and slipped into Agent Martin's paperwork. She had screamed and dropped the file, papers flying everywhere. It had been quite funny. No, Agent Burke wasn't even at the office when that happened…

He thought about the magazine. No, Agent Westley couldn't even admit he had that in the office. How could he report that it had disappeared? And he had it too well buried in the cold case file room for anyone to find, didn't he? He groaned. He thought maybe Agent Burke had found the magazine. As he topped the stairs, he saw both Burkes were waiting for him. No, it wasn't about the magazine; Agent Burke would never talk about that kind of material in front of his wife…

"Yes Sir?"

"Sit down Damon."

Damon thought that was a good sign. Sitting was safe. Maybe Agent Burke just wanted to talk. He warily sat down, looking at both Burkes for some indication of what was going on. Mrs. Burke was smiling; that was definitely a good sign.

Since Damon had been in such a good mood recently, Peter decided it was time for the talk. "Damon, you know we have talked about adopting you."

_Whew!_ He wasn't in trouble at all! But, he thought, this is a conversation he had expected…

"And you changed your minds. I understand Sir." He acknowledged calmly.

For several seconds Peter and El were rendered speechless. Is that what the kid thought? Both found their voices at the same time.

"No! No we haven't changed on minds!"

Damon looked at them perplexed; then what was this about?

Peter cleared his voice and then tried again. "Damon, we have not changed our minds. We have every intention of adopting you. We already think of you as our son, but we want to make it legal. We want you to have our name. Did you really think we would back down on this?"

Damon shifted uncomfortably; yes he had believed they would. He looked from one to the other. "You… you don't have to. It's okay. I know I'm not… That I…" He didn't know what to say.

El reached out laid her hand on top of his. "We know we don't have to, we want to. We love you. Don't you understand that?"

Damon looked down, no he didn't understand. They wanted what he was before… before…

Peter observed Damon's reactions, "Don't you want to be adopted?"

"I ah… yes… no… I mean…"

El was getting worried, "Damon? What's wrong sweetie? If you really don't want to, we're not going to make you. We just hoped you would feel like we do."

Damon sighed, it wasn't that he didn't want to, it used to be one of his favorite fantasies, but fantasies don't come true. "Ma'am I… I'm a thief. And… and my blood…"

Peter let out a small chuckle, "The thief part we are working on. But it doesn't make a difference son."

Damon looked up shocked. "It doesn't?"

Now it was El's turn to laugh, "No silly. But what are you talking about when you say your blood? You know we both love Neal."

Peter cleared his throat and shook his head.

"Well, maybe some of us are in denial, but we do." She gave Peter a pointed stare. He just rolled his eyes.

Damon looked down again, he didn't want to remind them; he knew they would change their minds if they remembered. He spoke quietly. "I'm not taking about that blood. The other… its bad blood… dirty blood…"

El looked at him perplexed, "Sweetie, what are you talking about?"

"I know." Peter responded. "You're talking about Adler, aren't you? Son, we decided to adopt you _after_ we found out about Adler. Whatever he was does not taint you. It does not make you dirty, as you put it."

Damon couldn't believe that they did not understand. "But you don't know him! You don't know what he was like! What if I turn out like him?"

El had already gotten up when she saw how much this actually upset Damon and moved to stand beside him, cradling him to her.

Peter was firm, "Damon look at me." Damon hesitated; he did not want to see what was in Peter's eyes. "Look at me." Peter repeated more firmly.

Damon slowly lifted his head. He had tears on the verge of spilling.

"Damon, the mere fact that you abhor everything that Adler did and what he was; proves that you are not like him. Think about your mother. From everything I've heard about her, she was a wonderful caring person. Did his blood make her dirty?"

Damon slowly shook his head no.

"I don't want to ever hear you cut yourself down again because of his blood." The last Peter stated as an order.

Damon saw that Agent Burke believed what he said. He felt the truth in Mrs. Burke's hands. They did not care what his blood was, who he was, what he was. He sat dumbfounded with the realization.

El moved to the chair beside him and sat down facing him, "So sweetie, now that you know our love is unconditional, will you agree to let us adopt you?"

Damon looked from one to the other, he could see their tension; he could see they _wanted_ to adopt him even knowing…

"Yes Ma'am."

He had trouble breathing for a second, El hugged him so hard. He looked at Peter and saw he had a huge smile plastered on his face. _They really wanted him._

"W… what about Neal? Will he mind?"

Peter shook his head, "No Damon, he doesn't mind at all. He had the idea long before we even realized we wanted to."

"When?"

El sat back down and held his hands. "As soon as you are released from house arrest, Sweetie. We already started the paperwork right after you left. Everything is ready; we're just waiting on you."

"What name will I have?"

Peter looked at him; El and he had ideas on what they thought it should be. "What name do you want?"

"You said you wanted me to have your name, so I guess I'll be Damon Burke."

"Yes. What do you want for your middle name Damon?"

Damon hesitated; he didn't want to insult Peter, "I'll have your last name, so…" He wasn't sure if he should say more.

"You want to be Damon Caffrey Burke?"

Damon nodded, he still couldn't figure out how Peter always knew what he was thinking.

"Good, because that's what we already put on the paperwork."

Damon couldn't help but smile. "Does Neal know?"

"No, we had to make sure it's what you wanted first." Peter thought a minute, "We could always wait and surprise him at the adoption with it. After all, your first middle name he surprised me with. I might consider it payback." He smiled at the thought.

Damon remembered back to that day, "But if we did the same thing, then I would be Damon Neal Burke."

"Would you rather do that? It's not too late to change the paperwork."

Damon thought a minute, "No, Neal is his name, but Caffrey is his blood, my blood. The good blood. I want Caffrey for my middle name."

Peter frowned a little at the reference to 'the good blood', insinuating there was bad blood; he let it slide for now. "That's the way we looked at it son. So Damon Caffrey Burke it shall be."

Elizabeth still had one more subject she wanted to broach; she again reached out to hold his hands as she asked. "Damon, I know you had a mother, and loved her dearly, and, well, Neal is your father, but now that you know we truly want to adopt you, do you think it would be possible to call us Mom and Dad, or at least El and Peter?"

Damon hesitated, trying to figure how to put his thoughts to words. "Ma'am, Stephen had a Mom, a great Mom, but I," He stressed the next three words, "_'I' as Damon_, you are the closest thing to a mother that _'I'_ have ever had." He took a breath and continued, "Neal is only my biological father. I like Neal; I like him a lot, but not that way. He is a friend, a brother. But," Again he hesitated, not sure how to say it. "There is a saying, 'Any man can be a father but it takes someone special to be a Dad'. Agent Burke is the only one in my entire life who fits that category."

Damon looked down at his hands in El's hands, afraid of what he might see in their eyes. Afraid he said too much.

If he had looked up, he would see El's eyes brimming with tears, "So you will call us Mom and Dad?" She asked hopefully.

Damon continued to watch their hands, he was afraid. What if something happened? What if they changed their minds? 'What if's' kept running through his head. He could not commit himself, just to have his dreams dashed out from under him. "N… not yet Ma'am."

El leaned forward and hugged him. "We can wait sweetie. Whenever you're ready."

Peter placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. He did not say anything for fear he could not control the emotions in his voice.

***WC***

Damon finally finished the basement. Even though Spencer had assured him, he was still nervous about showing it to the Burkes. He even considered repainting it before they ever saw it. But no, they'd have to buy the paint, and he knew they'd want to see it first. He announced it was done, and the Burkes eagerly headed down the steps.

He trailed behind just kind of listening, and wondered what good that did to hang back. What was he gonna do? Run? He laughed at himself. He heard El laugh as she headed down the stairs, not a derogatory laugh, it was a happy one.

"Oh Hon, he made it into a dungeon!"

The first thing they saw as they headed down the steps was the walls. They were painted to look like large, roughly hewn, light grey stone. The bottom layer consisted of larger boulders, medium ones through the center, and slightly smaller ones toward the ceiling. El had to touch the wall to ensure herself it was still flat, the shadowing giving a 3D effect. Peter laughed when he realized the medium grey he had so disliked was the mortar between the rocks. Even the window trim and stair supports had been painted to look like stone. The security bars already installed on the windows added to the dungeon impression.

Once they reached the bottom and looked up, they were both silenced for a moment.

For about three feet from each wall, the ceiling was painted to look like large wooden timbers, about the thickness of a railroad tie. The center was painted sky blue, with cumulus clouds to enhance the perception of depth. The ceiling light was a little off-center, due to their adding walls, and the light hood and ceiling around the hood was painted to turn the light into the sun. The center of the hood was still white, but lightened to yellow, then mixes of orange and red on the ceiling to depict the sun's rays.

Once they noticed the 'sun', they realized the shadowing on the edges of the timbers and the rocks on the walls depicted the position of the 'sun' in the sky.

Along the bottom of the ceiling ran some water pipes. Peter had chosen to put the ceiling above the pipes because under them would have made the ceiling too low, and also, if a leak was sprung, it could easily be found and repaired, rather than wait for obvious ceiling damage to alert them.

Damon had painted the pipes to look like rusty iron bars, and painted more bars across the ceiling to complete the dungeon effect. At a glance, you could not tell which were the real pipes and which were the painted ones. Damon had also painted the pipes that ran under the 'timbers' to blend in with the wood.

The last little touch made Peter laugh out loud. They had told Damon to trash a couple of old lamps when he was cleaning the basement. The lamp cords had run through a cheap decorative black plastic chain. Damon had salvaged the chains and added some reddish-brown to denote rust. He had created some manacles out of plastic bottles and other trash and also painted them to look like rusty iron and attached them to the chains. Two pair of them where hanging over the water pipes, completing the dungeon effect.

Damon stood behind them, still unsure if they liked it. "Is it okay? I can repaint it."

El turned to him, her face alight with happiness, "Don't you dare! I'll tan your hide myself if you even try to change it!" She took him in a hug, "It's beautiful Damon."

Peter guffawed, "Beautiful? It's a dungeon! Dungeons aren't supposed to be beautiful! How do you rate an open air dungeon, Damon?" He was smiling as he teased the boy.

"It's my dungeon! I like fresh air!" Damon laughed in response. "Besides, it still has bars, I can't escape." He went on to explain his choice. "It would have been too dark down here to make it a closed dungeon. The sky brightens the room up and gives the low ceiling a perception of height."

Both Peter and El agreed with that. Peter did voice a couple little additions he wanted to add. "If I remember right, there's a heavy beam right about there." He pointed to a spot on the wall, "We could anchor some real shackles there and replace the basement door with an iron door and I could really make this your dungeon."

Damon feigned shock, "Sir!"

"Guess it's time to invest in a ping pong table. If that's what you still want down here, Damon."

El complained, "What about the floor? We still have to finish that."

"Ma'am, I've been thinking about that. Since this is a basement, and subject to water damage, and at least, as a minimum, mildew, it might be better to leave it concrete with throw rugs for comfort and to absorb sound. Concrete does go along with the theme."

"He has a good point, El."

El couldn't argue; the concrete did look right under the stone walls.

Damon was walking on cloud nine. He had done something that pleased the Burkes. He was still a little worried that Neal might think it was stupid. Neal was a real artist, and had a more critical eye. But for now, he was happy. Life was good.

***WC***

##### "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story." Orson Welles. 'Till the next chapter. Neal Caffrey #####


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her and Colakirk's encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**WARNING: Corporal punishment is used in this chapter. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ.** This is a fictional story, an offshoot of a fictional series...

**DAMON III** **(19)**

Hughes started easing up slightly on some of Damon's restrictions, with the intent of reintroducing him to the rest of the world. He was now allowed to leave the offices for lunch as long as he was with one of the disciplinary agents and he was allowed to go into the small backyard at the Burkes to get some much needed air and sunshine.

Shortly after that, he was allowed to walk Satch as long as Peter accompanied him and was limited to 30 minutes or less on weekdays, one hour per day on weekends. The first weekend El had, of course, accompanied them, and it reminded Damon of that first walk so long ago when he had first come to live with the Burkes. Then, as now, he wanted to run and jump and climb. Then, as now, he had to stay close because he could not be trusted. He had eventually won their trust back then, but he had blown it. It would be harder now.

***WC***

Damon was getting antsy at work. He had been stuck indoors for about two and a half months except for the short little excursions he had recently been allowed. He still had about two weeks left and he was going stir crazy. Boredom was what got him in trouble when he lived on his own, and it wasn't much different now, except for the limits of trouble he could get into.

It was a slow day at White Collar, agents were roaming around casually, not driven or alert as they were when working an active case. Damon started practicing his shots….

Damon might think he's an adult, but inside he is still a kid, still 13/14 years old and he would often practice shooting paper bullets when he got bored. If he had hung with kids his age, he would have known they were called 'hornets' because if you hit someone with them with a powerful enough shot, they would sting like a hornet. But he never hit anyone, he was careful; he just covertly practiced shooting at various targets when no one was looking.

He started by just folding a piece of paper and shooting it with a rubber band. He discovered a strip of paper 1'x11' had a good weight for shooting. At first he just folded it, but soon adapted to a mixture of initial folding, and then rolled the paper into a tight tube and then folded the tube in half for a tighter, faster, and more accurate 'bullet'. The trick was to make the tube stay in a V shape. He had also improved on the basic rubber band by designing a makeshift slingshot to increase his skills.

This particular day, he was practicing his shots across the aisle into a spot on the wall in the coffee room. It was quite a distance so he had to put a lot of power behind the shot.

Just as he fired, Agent Berrigan made a sideway step to reach for the coffee pot and placed her left buttocks right in the line of fire, She jumped, grabbed the offended area and turned around to see who had the audacity to hit her there of all places. Jones had been talking to her; he saw her jump and her reaction. He followed her gaze its target.

Damon was too shocked to even think to hide his makeshift weapon, the evidence was right there in his hand. He just sat there mouth agape, _how do you apologize to a lady for that!_

Jones turned to Diana, "Want me to handle this for you?"

Diana smiled slyly, "Yes please Clinton, I would appreciate that." She knew his swing was more powerful than hers.

Jones crossed the aisle to collect the perpetrator of the crime and Damon saw the look on Jones' face.

On a few occasions, Damon had let his mouth engage before his brain, and had uttered any manner of cuss words. On these occasions, one of the disciplinary agents was apt to grab him by his ear and give him a quick smack on his buttocks to correct his irresponsible behavior. From this prior experience, he knew Jones had a swing as strong as Agent Burke's, and before he considered his actions, he was up and moving out of reach of the oncoming agent.

The chase was on! Damon forgot he was a man, he became a 14 year old outrunning the adults and thought it was a world of fun as he went over, under and around the agents and their desks to avoid capture. Files, desk supplies, reports, etc. were knocked out of his way as he went over their desks. He was smiling and laughing with the thrill of the chase.

He made sure he did not mess up Neal's desk as he maneuvered through the desk area out to the center aisle on yet another pass. He noticed Neal step in front of the entrance doors to block him from exiting the offices, he wasn't that dumb! As he ran up the center walkway, again, two agents tried to block his path and he did a homerun slide right between them, jumping up on his feet on the other side and that's when he ran into the mountain….

Peter was sitting in his office when he heard the commotion. He saw the agents chasing something… It took a few moments to realize they were chasing the kid. His kid! He slowly got up from his desk in disbelief, not only that Damon was running around like an idiot, but also that the agents couldn't catch him. He stepped out onto the balcony and noticed Hughes was also stepping out of his office.

"You better go get him Burke. They're not having any luck." Hughes growled.

"On it Reese." Peter responded as he headed down the steps, he entered the center walkway just as he saw Damon doing a perfect homerun slide between the agents and stepped forward to intercept…

Damon froze in place, he had run into Agent Burke and the man stood stock still right in front of him, hands on hips. He didn't have to look up to Peter's face to know who it was; he knew the feel, the smell, and the command authority that radiated from him. He didn't need to look at Peter's face to know he was angry, that also radiated from him, but still, he gave a furtive glace upwards and saw the rage etched there. Jones got a firm grip on his arm while he was stalled.

Peter exhaled and then spoke, "Can you handle it from here Jones?"

"Yes Sir, I can handle it. No problem!" Jones sounded a little out of breath and a little more than irate from having to chase the boy.

Peter frowned down at Damon, "Maybe you should take him into the interrogation room so he doesn't disturb anybody."

"Good idea Peter. I'll just take him there now."

Damon missed the silent communication between the two men; he missed Peter, with his hands on his hips tapping his finger against his belt. He missed Jones subtle nod, acknowledging the implied consent.

But when Jones started to pull him toward the interrogation room, and Damon realized what was going on, he tried to pull away. _'This was Agent Burke's job, not Jones'!'_, he thought. But when he saw the look on Peter's face, he thought maybe he was better off with Jones…

Meanwhile, Jones had felt the boy trying to pull away and pulled him in tight so he could whisper in his ear, "You're only going to make it worse on yourself."

Jones did not release Damon until they entered the interrogation room and Jones made sure the door was locked behind him, no sense in repeating the aforementioned scene.

***WC***

After Jones and Damon left for the interrogation room, Neal hurried into Peter's office.

"Peter, what are you doing? You're going to let Jones discipline him? What if he hurts him?" Neal was obviously upset.

Peter was still angry at Damon's antics, "Jones knows what he's doing."

"How do you know? He doesn't have any kids!"

"Neal, I have discussed the issue with him and the others. Jones had some younger brothers he used to help his parents with. He is experienced. As angry as I am at Damon right now, he's probably a lot safer with Jones then with me." Peter paused, and then he challenged Neal, "Unless you'd rather take care of it?"

"What! No. No Peter, you know I can't…"

"Then let me decide what's best for the boy."

"Well, then aren't you at least going to the observation room?"

"Neal, I trust my agent to take care of the problem in a professional manner. If you don't, you are welcome to go watch yourself." Peter was getting angry with Neal now.

Neal decided that maybe Peter was too angry to deal with Damon right then, and left the office to go help clean up Damon's mess.

***WC***

Jones questioned the boy, "Damon, can you explain what the heck happened back there?"

Damon shrugged his shoulders and slowly backed away from him.

"Okay, if you don't want to talk, then bend over the table and let's get this over with."

That woke Damon up. "But it was an accident!" He protested.

"An accident? What was an accident?"

"I didn't mean to hit her! She stepped into my line of fire after I shot!"

"And you couldn't explain that to me back there? You didn't think I would have taken that into consideration? I might have settled for one smack just for carelessness and it would be over."

"Okay. Just one?" Damon asked hopefully.

"Damon, did you see the mess you made out there? No, just one is what you _would_ have gotten, but now the office looks like a tornado went through it. No Damon, not just one now." Jones shook his head in exasperation. "Did you even take into consideration that evading capture could be construed as resisting arrest? A violation of your probation? Maybe Hughes will be mollified with what happens in here. I hope so." He shook his head again, "If you had run out that door, there'd be no saving you."

"But I didn't." Damon pleaded. "I wasn't trying to get away, just… just…" _having fun._ But he couldn't say that, not after the mess he'd caused.

"Damon, you know Hughes expects you to be disciplined for this. You know there is no option. Now, go to the table and bend over."

"But I don't want to…"

Jones was getting irritated again, "Damon…"

Damon understood why Hughes would demand this, he understood why Peter would, but he just couldn't make himself obey Jones. He glanced toward the door, judging the distance.

Jones saw his glance and knew his thoughts, he quickly stepped forward and secured Damon by the arm again before Damon had a chance to react.

Damon let his anger rise and he engaged his voice before his brains, "Let go of me mother f**ker!"

Jones did not lose his cool, he had been called worse, maybe not by as young a child as Damon, but he had heard it all before. He guided Damon to the table and, as Damon still resisted, he pulled his arm behind his back and forced him to bend over the table. He held him firmly in place with his left hand as he removed his belt with his free hand and doubled it, making sure the buckle was safely tucked in his hand.

Damon had not noticed Jones pulling off his belt, he expected him to use his hand, as he always had. The first hit caught him totally off-guard and, as he hadn't gotten control of his temper yet, he called Jones some even more abusive names to include the forbidden 'N' word. Jones let a few more hits fly before he noticed Damon finally quit struggling.

He paused, "Anything else you want to say Damon?"

Damon's anger had been beat out of him, "I'm… I'm sorry…"

Jones released Damon's arm but kept his hand firmly on Damon's back and swatted him a few more times.

When he realized his arm was free, Damon brought it forward with the other to cradle his head in. He did not try to stand.

Jones paused again, "What are you sorry for Damon?"

Damon tried not cry as he said "For… for messing up the office."

Jones waited, and when Damon offered no more, he gave him a couple more swats. "What else Damon?"

"For… running?"

Jones let a couple more fly and asked the same question again.

Damon was having trouble controlling his voice, his backend was on fire. "For hitting Agent Berrigan."

Jones sighed and swatted him a couple more times. "What else Damon?"

Finally Damon gave in, "I'm sorry I called you those names."

Jones gave him a couple more swats for good measure and released him. Damon did not even realize it was over until Jones helped him stand up. Peter had warned his agents about Damon's temper and Jones knew he could not just release Damon until he was sure the boy did not flare up. He curled his hand around the back of Damon's neck massaging it and trying to comfort the boy.

Damon could not look at Jones. He knew he had been exceptionally rude to him and finally regretted it. His hind end wished he had regretted it sooner. He stood there crying, needing the comfort Peter always gave him afterwards. "I'm sorry Agent Jones. I didn't mean what I said. I just…"

"I know Damon. You let your anger control you. Again. You really need to work on that."

"You're not mad?"

"No Damon, disappointed, but not mad."

Damon couldn't help himself, he needed comfort, and he leaned into Jones. Jones hesitated, he didn't expect to hug the boy, but he could feel Damon's need and, cautiously at first, hugged the boy and let him cry into his shoulder.

When Damon regained control, Jones told him to go clean up and meet him in the bullpen. He still had to apologize to Diana. Damon did as instructed. He had pretty much gotten himself back under control by the time he met Jones in the bullpen and approached Diana.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry I hit you in the… the… that I hit you. I didn't mean to, you stepped into my line of fire."

Diana noticed the boy dancing from on foot to the other as a result of his recent visit to the interrogation room, "An accident? That didn't feel like an accident." She retorted.

"It was Ma'am! I would never hit a lady in the… the… there!"

Diana tried not to laugh at the boy's obvious embarrassment. "Okay, get to work."

She waited for him to turn to walk away and then landed a good swat on his already sore behind.

"Yeowww!" He jumped several inches as he grabbed his already stinging backside and turned back to Diana. She stood there smiling at him,

"Now we're even, apology accepted."

Damon could not help but smile back, but he guarded his posterior from her as he moved away.

He started to help clean up the office when Diana came to him with a stack of files in total disrepair. "Damon, these are the files that you messed up. They need to be put back in order. Sit at your desk and fix them."

Damon took the files and started to work on them while standing. "No Damon. My orders are to make sure you sit and correct your mistakes."

Damon sighed, he knew the orders came either from Hughes or Peter; they loved to reinforce his 'lessons'. He gingerly sat down and started working on the files. No one needed to check to see if Damon was doing his job correctly, he was a stickler for having files maintained in perfect order. It took him about an hour to finish and Jones must have been watching him because as soon as he got done, he showed up with a smaller stack and set them on his table.

"These came from the other side of the office." He explained.

Damon groaned, his rear was on fire and all he wanted to do was get off of it. He started repairing the new stack. When he finished those, Diana came back to his table; he was waiting for yet another stack of files. "Now Damon, I have another job for you."

Damon did not want another sitting job, but he had brought it on himself, "What Ma'am?"

She pointed to the files he had put back in order, "All those need to be filed. Do you think you can handle that?"

_Filed!_ That meant standing! Damon jumped up and grabbed the files, "Yes Ma'am! Thank you Ma'am! I'll get right on that!"

Diana chuckled as she watched the boy all but run to the file room.

***WC***


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show

**Claimer:** Damon is mine

**AN: **A special thanks to peppe1951 for beta'ing all my DAMON II & III chapters, and her and Colakirk's encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

**DAMON III** **(20)**

***WC***

After Damon finished the basement, he started disappearing into his room instead. Whenever El or Peter entered the room, the easel was always facing the wall and covered, but the tell-tale smell of paint was in the air. Since Damon wanted to remain secretive, they did not question him for fear their curiosity would dissuade him from painting.

Just before he got off house arrest, Damon approached Peter. "Sir, I have something I want to send to Agent Gideon, but I'm not sure if it's any good. Would you mind looking at it for me?"

"Looking at what Damon?" Peter thought he knew, but he wanted Damon to learn to be more open.

"Umm, a painting?" It's not very good, you don't have to." The boy was ready to back down, to desist in his request.

"I would be honored to check it out for you." Peter had been dying to see what he was painting.

El overheard the conversation, "Do you mind if I see it too?"

Damon did mind, he minded anyone seeing it and wished he had kept his mouth shut, but he would never insult Mrs. Burke. "Ma'am, I don't think you will like it." But he saw the disappointment in her face and caved in, "it's okay if you come too, but it's... it's..." He inhaled, "You're not going to like it."

They followed him upstairs to his bedroom where he hesitated. "It's really not very good…"

Peter stopped him, "Damon, you asked for our opinion. Please let us decide for ourselves." After seeing the basement, there was no doubt in Peter's mind that whatever Damon painted would at least be decent, as a minimum.

Damon carefully turned the easel around to face them. A blank sheet of paper, three foot in width and two foot in height, covered whatever was underneath. He hesitated, and then finally lifted the paper, revealing the watercolor painting of the same size hidden underneath. He watched their faces to see the reaction…

In the center of a field of wild grass interspersed with random wildflowers was a small herd of sheep in the process of being slaughtered by four hyenas.

One of the sheep was down with a hyena's jaws clamped around its neck. The eyes of the ewe had a hollow look, depicting death. Bright red flower pedals were painted on its neck, and fell into a bed of red flowers which lay at the base. They gave the impression of 'flowing' away from the sheep as the flowers dwindled away.

A second sheep was in the process of being attacked, with a second hyena halfway into the sheep's back trying to take it down. You could see the fear in the eyes of the ewe as she glanced back at her tormentor. A ram was running toward the hyena, head down, ready to defend his herd, but a third hyena was on the verge of leaping onto the ram's neck.

Yet a fourth hyena had a young lamb clenched in its jaws. The lamb's eyes were filled with pure terror. Its young mouth was wide open and the tongue was half out, you could almost hear its bleats of horror. The hyena was in the process of turning its head backward, looking at the fury behind it. Inches from its back, a fraction of a second from completing his leap, was a large grey male wolf. The wolf's eyes were intent with purpose. It was an older wolf, greying around the muzzle, but still fit. You could see the power in his muscles.

Another large male wolf, this one solid black, was closing in on the second hyena. This was a younger wolf; muscles rippling in the prime of life, his eyes alight with the thrill of the hunt. And yet a third large male wolf, this one black and grey in color, was after the hyena attacking the ram. He was an alpha male, and had the eyes of a killer.

A young male wolf of normal coloration was further behind the three powerfully built adult males, but still intent on avenging the innocent. He was heading for the first hyena, the one with the fallen sheep. Running by his side and of the same basic coloration, was a she-wolf, as equally intent as he.

Yet further back was a young she-wolf, lighter in color than the others, almost blondish. Another she-wolf paced on a small knoll, head down, watching intently and worrying over her pack. She was of a strange color for a wolf, an almost unnatural reddish hue.

The picture as a whole depicted action and intent, terror and retribution. It was frozen in a moment in time seconds from the impending violence of fang and jowl, tooth and claw, and the ensuing blood bath it would entail. One was almost afraid to look away for fear the picture would become motion and uphold its promise.

It only took Peter moments to know it was Damon's depiction of the BAU; the Behavior Analysis Unit of the FBI; hunters that hunted the killers and protected the prey. El, as Damon had feared, held her hands in front of her mouth from shock as she contemplated the violence depicted in the scene, but she also noted Damon's unwillingness to show blood; he used bright red flowers to symbolize it. But neither one of them could deny the talent of the artist.

Peter had noticed Gideon's watercolor collection and let out a held breath as he quietly stated, "Yes Damon, I think Jason would like this." He wondered if this was 'not very good' what Damon considered good, or was he seeing something different than Damon was.

"Would you help me mail it to him Sir?"

Peter forced himself to look away from the picture to look at Damon, "Yes, but why don't we wait until you are off house arrest so Neal can come see it before we send it off?"

Damon fidgeted, he didn't want Neal to see it; he didn't want to disappoint him. Peter saw his reluctance. "Damon, it's good. Neal would love to see it. Please let him."

Damon gave in, "Okay." But he really didn't think it was good enough to show Neal.

***WC***

The day of Damon's release from house arrest finally arrived. He was summoned into Hughes office to make the official transition. Peter and the other three disciplinary agents were also present. Damon stood in his usual position facing Hughes.

Hughes sat back in his chair, resting his chin in his hand, and addressed the boy. "Boy, you have completed the first stage of your probation. There were some setbacks, but that was to be expected. On the whole, you did better than I thought you would. I know Burke has already discussed some of the conditions of the second stage with you, but I want to be sure you understand them." He pulled on his ear and then resettled his chin in his hand.

"For a while, you will still come to work with Burke. If he decides it is alright for you to go somewhere, say the library, you will go there from here and return here. This will be your base until we are sure you can be trusted with more freedom. You will not be allowed the freedoms you had in the past. You have proven an inability to make proper choices when left to your own device."

Hughes picked up a piece of paper on his desk and handed it to Damon. "Memorize all of the establishments on this list. They are forbidden to you. Every six months, your progress will be re-evaluated to see if you can be allowed access to any of the places listed there." Hughes had learned to understand some of the depths of Damon's ability to memorize.

Damon read the list over and memorized it. It listed every gallery, every museum, every jewelry store, plus the theaters, concert halls, etc. that he used to frequent to steal money. The list was almost complete, "Sir, you missed the Gagosian Gallery," he volunteered.

Hughes grunted, the boy was too smart for his own good. "Well, I see you understand boy. Include that in the list, and any others our typist might have missed putting on there." He did not want to admit that maybe _they_ had missed it; the city was known for its extensive quantity of expensive galleries, not to mention the multitude of lesser ones.

Hughes picked up a tracking anklet that had been lying on his desk. "Burke, if you would?" Peter stepped forward and took the anklet from Hughes. He set a chair in front of Damon. "Son, place your left foot on the chair, please."

Damon wondered what they were doing. What was wrong with the anklet he had? Peter had not informed him because he wasn't sure when and if the new anklet would be ready. It had been in design and production for the last three months.

As Peter unlocked the first anklet and replaced it with the new one, Hughes explained. "This anklet has been especially designed for you. It does not go through the US Marshall's or any other agency. It is programed strictly for White Collar. The five of us also have the program in our laptops. All of the locations on this list, and some not listed I guess, are in the program. Your anklet has three lights, green, yellow and red. You see the green one is on right now."

Damon looked down and saw the green light; he returned his attention to Hughes.

"Green, of course, means you're in a safe area. When you get close to any of the forbidden locations, as in close enough to case them, the light will turn yellow and a warning beep will sound every six seconds. Every time that beep sounds, a location point will be automatically entered into the computer's program log. Now I understand many of the galleries are located next to the sidewalk, and just walking by will cause the warning alarm to go off. We understand that. But by this location being listed on the computer's report, we can ascertain if you are just walking by, or actually casing the place. So I advise you to pay attention. If you hear the warning signal, it is in your best interests to move on. Do you understand?"

Damon nodded, "Yes Sir."

"If the red light goes on, you are in violation of probation. Entering any of these locations," he pointed to the list, "will cause the red light to go on and a constant beeping sound, as you heard when you tried to escape that time. The computer program will start flashing a warning and all of us," he indicated all the agents in the room, "will receive a warning alarm and your location on their cell phones."

He sat up and looked at Damon sharply, "Do _**not**_ cause that red light to go on!"

Damon swallowed, "Y… yes Sir... I… I mean no Sir…"

Hughes sat back, "One last thing boy. Your anklet will set off any security metal detectors you pass through. Again, that location will be noted on the computer program log. If someone needs a security system, they usually have something to protect. They have a right to have the option to deny you access if they so desire. Understood?"

"Yes Sir, I understand."

"The White Collar unit's and Burke's phone numbers are etched into the side of that thing, so if you do get detained by the authorities, don't even try to lie to them boy, just point out the numbers and ask them to call. Hopefully, you won't be in violation of your probation. That's it boy, any questions."

Damon was studying the anklet, locating the numbers; he looked up quickly, "No Sir."

"Then get out of my office boy. And try to stay out of trouble."

Damon removed his foot from the chair, "Yes Sir!" and left the room heading back to his desk. It was official, he made it! He sat down thinking of all the things he wanted to do, most of which he still couldn't, but he was closer. He looked at Neal, who had been watching him, and smiled. He could go to Neal's now! He first showed up at White Collar about two years ago and had yet to see Neal's place! He knew Agent Burke would probably want to go with him, but still…

***WC***

The evening after Damon's release from house arrest, El rushed him to the hair stylist and then shopping for a nice set of clothing to wear the next day.

The Day.

Adoption Day.

***WC***

Neal arrived at the Burke's house early, he had missed being able to go to their house for the last three months, with the exception of the one night. He wanted to see the basement Damon had painted. Neither Peter nor El would tell him anything, they said he would have to see it himself, and this was his first opportunity. Damon was still upstairs getting dressed so he slipped down to the basement by himself.

Peter found him in the basement with a grin on his face. "Pretty awesome, isn't it Neal?"

Neal didn't turn to Peter as he kept admiring the dungeon, "I never considered using my talents this way Peter. Murals yes, but to turn a room into… " He then turned to Peter, "It's not that the talent here is so great, any decent artist can paint rocks, wood and sky, it's the imagination of the artist that makes it good. I have always copied others, but this…" He turned back to the room, "This is an original. It is his and his alone. That's what makes it so damn good."

"Well I can show you something else that might make you change your mind on his artistic talents."

Neal spun to face Peter again, "What?"

"It's in his room, let's go." Peter turned and headed up the stairs, Neal eagerly following behind him.

Peter knocked on Damon's door, "Damon, are you dressed? Neal's here."

Damon opened the door and grinned happily, Neal was finally back in the house. "Hey Neal!"

They entered the room and Peter noticed the easel was still facing toward the room, but the picture had been recovered. "Damon, Neal would like to see your painting."

Damon's face fell, why now, why today? He didn't want to spoil the magic. Peter saw his reaction, "Damon, I might not be an artist, but you know I know art, and your picture is good. Trust me. Neal will like it."

Neal caught his breath, "A painting? You painted a picture Damon?" He was as excited as a kid in a candy store.

Damon saw Neal's reaction, and tried to explain before Neal got his hopes up, "It's for Agent Gideon. He likes picture of predators, I just thought… I thought I would try to paint him one. It's not very good Neal."

"Okay. But I would like to see it anyway, if you don't mind." Neal expected a picture of a predator, a leopard in a tree, a lion in the veldt, a typical portrait of some predatory species. When Damon unveiled his creation, Neal froze.

When he got over his initial surprise, Neal studied the picture with the eye of an artist. He saw the detailing that gave the painting life; the dust swirls from the animals feet as they ran, the slight bend in the grass to show a breeze, the texture of the fur and the wool. The little things that few notice, but are intricate to the whole. And the originality. He was looking at a Damon original. For a second the thought crossed his mind that too bad it was watercolor and a scene that did not draw the big bucks.

"Damon, this is amazing!" He exclaimed.

Damon knew he was just being nice, but he did appreciate the effort. But when Neal turned to face him, Damon saw the excitement in Neal's eyes.

"Damon you are good! I knew you would be, but this… This is excellent!"

"You really like it?" Damon was still unsure.

"Well, it's not my style of painting. Too violent for my personal tastes, but the talent is exceptional."

Damon started to grin; Neal really thought he was good! "Thanks Bro."

Just then El called up the stairs, "Let's go! We don't want to be late!"

They hurried out of the room and down the stairs, it was time.

***WC***

They stood in front of the judge, El and Peter side by side and Damon in the center in front of them. Neal was seated in the observers' seats. They had already gone through all the pre-adoption counseling and formalities; this was the last step, the signing of the forms. The judge looked at the group.

"It's a big step, adopting a young teenager. Are you two sure you're ready for this?"

Peter gave a playful half choke on the boy, "We think we can handle him."

The judge turned to Damon, "What about you boy? After all, these two have never had children. They are not experienced parents."

Damon glanced back at El and then at Peter and then turned back to the judge, "Well Sir, Agent Burke's a little hard headed sometimes, but he's trainable."

Peter's choke hold got menacingly tighter as they all laughed.

The judge smiled as he looked down at the forms and then hesitated; he looked back up at the boy. "Son, these two are about to become your parents. Are you going to continue to call him Agent Burke?"

Damon's face lit up with the full blown Caffrey smile, "Only until you sign those papers, Sir!"

The judge again studied the forms, "And you choose the name 'Damon Caffrey Burke'?

Damon's smile got even bigger, if that was possible, "Yes Sir!"

All three of them managed a quick look back at Neal and got to experience that rare opportunity where Neal's face for a moment was un-masked and jaw dropped in his surprise. Slowly as the full realization struck him, his patented smile returned, he even gave the impression of strutting without moving a muscle.

While they were watching Neal's reaction, the judge was signing the adoption forms. When he finished he cleared his throat to regain the parties' attention, "Damon Caffrey Burke, you are now the legal son of Peter and Elizabeth Burke. You are now officially a family."

Damon turned to Elizabeth and Peter. He took a deep breath as he prepared to say those words, those magic words, those forever binding words. He looked into El's eyes, "I love you Mom." And then turned to Peter, "You too Dad."

El could not stop her tears when she finally heard that word, which had all the more meaning because Damon would not use it lightly; Peter tried valiantly not to tear. Of course they all wrapped themselves in one big hug. Damon saw Neal sitting in the seat beaming away. He motioned to Neal to join them. "Come on Neal, you're family too!"

Neal got up, but stopped when Peter shook his head, "Oh, no he's not!"

Damon pleaded, "But he's like a big brother!"

Peter frowned, "No, that would make him like my son. No way!"

Damon tried again, "Then he can be like my young uncle."

Again Peter shook his head, "That would make him like my little brother…"

"But Daaa-aaad! He's blood!"

Peter looked into those bright shining puppy dog eyes, that charismatic smile, and reveled in the way he said 'Dad' and how it sounded so right. He would have to get used to that word before the boy wrapped him around his little finger. He turned to Neal,

"You have been trying to become a part of my family since the day you got out of prison. Well, you finally managed the long con to get you in. Get over here!" He held out his arm to Neal and waved for him to join them.

Neal rushed toward them, ecstatic about finally officially joining the family, but just before he jumped into the trio between Peter and Damon, Damon spoke up, "Careful Bro! Dad swings a mean belt!"

As lithe as a cat, Neal changed direction in mid-stride and joined the group between Damon and El, safely away from Peter. He looked down at Damon, "Maybe you should call me Uncle…"

They all laughed and hugged; a bigger happy family. As they headed out the door El spoke up, "Damon, where do you want to go to eat to celebrate? This is your day, you get to choose."

Damon flashed another smile "The Texas Roadhouse! There's one in East Meadow, only about 30 to 40 minutes from here. I'll direct you."

They all looked confused. Neal spoke up first, "What do they serve?"

Damon chuckled, "What every Texan eats! Meat and potatoes! And they use the best marinade for their meat… Might have mesquite in it, I'm not sure."

Peter queried, "Mesquite?"

Damon just rolled his eyes, "Yankees!" he protested.

Neal ruffled Damon's hair, "Hey, careful there, Bro. You're an adopted Yankee now."

Damon stopped dead in his tracks, a shocked look on his face. "I didn't think about that…" He started to turn around, started to head back toward the judge. "Judge! Sir! Is it too late to change…?"

Three sets of hands grabbed him. "It's too late Damon. You're stuck with us now!" They laughed as they pulled him out the door.

The judge sat shaking his head and smiling after the cheerful group. Its days like this that he really enjoyed his job.

***WC***

**More authors notes: This is the perfect place to end Damon III. I do hope you enjoyed my story and all its ups and downs. I thank all of you who have followed his story and especially those of you who have kept me going with your reviews and comments. Thank you so much for your support.**

***WC***

##### "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story." Orson Welles. ###


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